


Cloud 9

by WinterDreams



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reincarnation, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 79,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5698426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterDreams/pseuds/WinterDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm like a beautiful angel of love who has trouble finding love for himself." Jake Perolta (Brooklyn 99)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The pretentious taste oozing from every material object and half the people scattered around the room pasted a scowl on Church’s face the second he landed in the middle of the room.

It was a hotel restaurant, but the dress of everyone chatting at the fine wooden tables draped with pristine white table cloths and decorated with delicate silver finery seemed like something out of a Hollywood movie. The bar tucked in the far right corner looked normal enough except for the black suits the bartenders all wore.

Grumbling to himself, Church turned a closer attention to the people as instrumental music played softly beneath their conversations. After a moment of searching the dim space, he found target number one.

The man sat at one of the two seater dining tables along the far wall. Large glass windows with dark red drapes framing them were set into the wall, allowing a glimpse of the busy city streets outside the hotel. The man himself read on his phone but kept glancing up at the entrance to the restaurant that led to the hotel lobby. He adjusted his square glasses and smoothed down his tie every few seconds, transforming Church’s scowl into a smirk. A little eager nerves were always helpful in triggering the romantic spark Church needed to encourage decisive action.

Church moved closer to the man and peered over his shoulder to scan the news article he read. After only a second’s deliberation and a quick shrug, Church nudged the man’s hesitant desire to bring up the article and transformed it into a confident decision to broach the discussion when his partner arrived.

Satisfied for the moment, Church turned his attention to the entrance way, for Donald Doyle was only one of Church’s assigned targets. Shoving his hands into his jean pockets, Church wandered toward the lobby, hoping Vanessa Kimball showed up soon. Their bond was one of the trickier ones that would inevitably be one of great passion, but there was the possibility for both vitriol hatred and ardent love. Church would need to use a keen eye and subtle persuasion for the two’s first in-person meeting, especially when it was meant to be the start of a joint catering venture rather than a social event. The last thing Church needed was a late arrival irritating both of them.

Five minutes later, Vanessa Kimball, owner of the independent bakery known as _The Bakery on Thirty-Fourth Street_ , strode into the restaurant. Walking at her side as she spoke was a blonde woman who had never been mentioned in the assignment profile Church had received.

With her jeans, leather jacket, and blue tank top underneath the jacket, she was a jarring image next to Kimball’s blue summer dress and the finery of everyone else in the room. Yet her gaze touched upon every person in the room without a single waver in her confidence and for the first time in six years, Church felt his chest go painfully tight when her gaze slid right over him just like everyone else’s always did.

The two women stopped in the middle of the room, Church sidling over to them as he watched the way the muscles of the blonde woman’s arms strained against the fabric of her jacket when she crossed her arms over her chest. She seemed to be all muscle and hard edges under her clothes, the only soft thing about her the blonde hair swept into a pony tail, and the lips that twitched the barest fraction upward in response to the words falling from Kimball’s own smile.

With one last expression of gratitude from Kimball, the women made to part ways as Doyle stood up at his table. Kimball headed toward him, the blonde woman moved toward the bar, and Church scowled at the separation. He watched Kimball and Doyle shake hands, smiling at each other as Kimball apologized for being late.

“Hands off, cockbite.”

The loud declaration and choice of curse word had Church twisting toward the blonde woman where she stared coldly at an unapologetic man. When he moved closer again, the woman kicked him to the ground in three seconds. Then she kept moving to the bar without a backward glance as Church gaped at her.

Church glanced once more at Kimball and Doyle where they were happily discussing different crumb structures in bread before he trailed after the blonde woman and her promise of a more interesting afternoon.

_“–most lovesick puppy I’ve ever met.”_

Church drew to a halt right behind the woman as she took a seat at the bar, looking around to see who had seemed to speak directly to him. When he once more found no one so much as glancing his way, he scowled at himself and turned back to the woman just as she introduced herself to some asshole seated at the bar on her left.

“–Tex,” the woman said, and the man blinked at her. Church did the same.

“That’s–”

“A strange name, yeah,” Tex said before the man could get another word out. She turned her attention toward the rest of the bar, and the man leaned even closer at her nonverbal dismissal.

“That a nickname?” the man asked.

“Nope.” She glanced at the man again, and Church noticed the way she didn’t ask the man for any more information, and the way the man eagerly blurted out his own name and another question a second later.

A conversation about the man’s reason for being in the hotel ensued and Church quickly checked in on his assigned humans, glancing over his shoulder and opening himself up to their emotional and mental states. He quickly pushed Kimball’s thoughts toward the more diplomatic response drowning beneath all the hostile options, and quelled Doyle’s growing frustration.

He tuned back into Tex’s conversation just as she said,

“I’m actually here to meet someone staying at the hotel.” She moved to rest an elbow on the counter of the bar and cross her legs in one smooth motion that left the man and Church’s gazes riveted to her. “A man named Monicco.”  

She smiled as she said his name, all bared teeth and promises of violence, and Church was suddenly very glad he wasn’t this Monicco she was looking for.

“Oh that guy,” the man responded, giving Tex a dopey grin dripping with an obliviousness that rivalled Caboose’s. “I had a couple drinks with him the other night. Said he was leaving soon.”

“Did he?” Tex asked, expression staying impassive even when the man leaned into her personal space. She took a buzzing phone out of her pocket a second later, pressing it to her ear without a word to the man gazing at her. “Yeah? Seriously? You’re fucking positive?”

Her fingers started tapping on the surface of the bar, and Church nearly took a step back at the force of her scowl despite her glare not being directed at him. “Fuck yeah okay, got it. Yeah I’ll head back and see if I can get a hit on plane tickets. See you in an hour.”

Tex slid her phone back into her pocket and stood up a second later, the man gaping at her.

At the same time, anger slammed into Church’s awareness and he whirled around at the raised voices coming from where Kimball and Doyle were supposed to be speaking. Church didn’t even have time to grasp the threads of either of their thoughts or the cause of their anger before Kimball stormed out of the restaurant. A couple of people looked over at the unintelligible words Doyle shouted after her, his face gone completely red as he looked back down at his phone.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Church groaned.

“Party’s over,” Tex said, and left the bar without another word as the man stumbled over his words.

Church watched her walk away, glancing over at Doyle where he angrily shoved his belongings into a bag. The force of his frustration spiralling through his endlessly cycling thoughts nearly knocked Church right over when he opened himself up. He tried to pick his way through Doyle’s thoughts but they were incoherent in his fresh anger, leaving only vague imprints of the cadence of Kimball’s words and the disgust twisting her beautiful features.

_“You know, Church, for someone so confrontational, you really suck at the actual confrontation part.”_

“Fuck it,” Church snapped, shoulders sagging with the acceptance that damage control at that specific time would be useless. He glanced back at Doyle one more time before he turned on his heel and headed after Tex.

He caught a glimpse of her blonde hair and scrambled to catch up with her as she strode toward the hotel exit. Church followed her out the lobby doors and down the hotel stairs into the mid-afternoon light, trailing behind her for a few paces before she stopped on the curb of the street a block down from the hotel. A black motorcycle rested there and Church gaped as Tex grabbed the helmet hanging from the handlebars.

“Holy shit, you’re a fucking walking cliché,” Church said, shaking his head as she put on her gloves. She didn’t respond to Church, simply swinging herself onto the bike and sticking the keys into the ignition. The bike rumbled to life and–

_The exhausted rattling and groaning of the old car’s engine is the constant soundtrack playing beneath all of their bickering, all of the music blasting from the crackling stereo, and all of their load moans when they fuck beneath the stars on the cracked leather back seats._

The revving of the engine snapped Church out of the images and sounds of a past he couldn’t know, but the warmth of contented happiness lingered in his chest and caressed his skin.

Tex revved the bike again and headed out of the parking lot, ghostly voices as tantalizing as a siren’s call trailing in her wake.

_“Oh come on, just give it a try! What’s the worst that could happen?”_

_“Do you want it fucking alphabetized?”_

_Laughter answers him, loud and light and helpless in all the best ways._

Without another conscious thought, Church snapped open his feathered wings and flew after Tex’s vehicle. Within a city, he kept pace with the motorcycle easily enough, letting himself glide a couple feet above her. After only a couple of blocks, his entire body was warm with the sun’s heat, the wind grabbing at his shirt and strands of black hair.

_Hands tug at the hem of his shirt, insisting on pulling him back onto the bed as a smile fills his vision._

They sped through a green light, Tex weaving through the lanes when slow trucks and buses clog up the space in front of her as the honking of vehicles filled the air around them.

_They’re screaming with all of the vibrant life they carry in every cell of their being, tumbling through the air to the waiting lake below._

Tex took a sharp right turn, Church cursing as he veered to follow her, satisfaction blooming in his chest when he had to speed to catch up to her again.

_He’s spent the last five minutes swearing with every breath in his lungs and she swears there will be an angry echo hanging in the air even after they’ve left the apartment for the day, but she’s grinning when she says it._

They waited at a red light for only a moment, Tex planting her feet on solid ground as one hand tapped impatiently on the handlebar and Church hovered above her.

_Her hand is tangled in his, dragging him through the night as she tells him to hurry._

The light changed colour and Church shot after Tex as she urged the bike forward in a second.

_Her hand is tangled in his beneath the surface of their table, another hand lifting the shot to her mouth with a smirk as he gags on his._

Another left turn at a massive drugstore downtown and all the noises of the traffic that normally pricked at Church’s ears until he felt like screaming simply rolled off him.

_Her hand is tangled in his as the insomnia clings to him and rips his mind apart._

A group of teenagers with jeans hanging low enough to show their boxers and hats of every colour shoved onto their heads jeered at Tex when she passed them.

_Her hand is tangled in his as sweat drips from their skin and he forgets everything for a moment as he comes to the sound of her moaning his name._

Tex turned onto another major roadway, switching into the left lane while Church soared.

_Her hand tangled in his–_

Through another three traffic lights while happiness burned as bright as the daylight around them inside Church’s chest.

 _Her hand_ –

Church felt a grin tug at his lips as he continued to fly a foot above Tex, air ruffling all of his feathers.

 _Her_ –

A second later the grin dropped off his face and he jerked to a halt as a car ran the red light as Tex went through the intersection.

A screech rose above all other noises as all the cars nearby skidded to a stop while Tex tried to careen away from the offending car. The car and motorcycle passed within an inch of each other before the bike veered far away from the car, but the motion sent Tex’s body and bike skidding across the pavement. The car continued down the road without any decrease in speed while the rest of the world frantically slammed on the pause button.

_There’s no warning noise and then he’s soaring through the weightless air for only a second before his entire world becomes one stabbing pain. Only then does the noise come, all of the frantic screeching of brakes and slamming of doors and shouting of pedestrians coupled with his own delirious swearing and screaming._

Church shot over to Tex, barely hearing the slam of car doors when people began to climb out of their cars and shouted at each other to call an ambulance. He picked his way through the mess of metallic parts and headlight glass, gaze locked on Tex’s sprawled form resting by the overturned boke. He stopped right above her, wings dragging across the concrete her blood began to trickle to. Red spilled from a gash on her side and flowed from her hairline, open face helmet now cracked.   

“What a shame.”

Church tore his gaze away from Tex’s twisted face and heaving chest at the sound of the deep voice. At his shoulder stood a tall man with round glasses and a perfectly fitted grey suit. The man stared at Tex, emotion flickering in his grey eyes for merely a second before his face went blank once more.

“Director,” Church said, taking a quick step away from the boss of the local Reapers. The Reaper didn’t acknowledge the love angel, and Church’s eyes widened when the Director reached for the briefcase strapped across his back in place of any wings.

“No, wait,” Church blurted, though fear of the other entity kept him rooted to the spot. “You can’t be taking her now! She’s still breathing!”

“Not for much longer,” the Director replied, and a pale blue aura began to form around the hand not grabbing his briefcase.

“There’s not even that much blood,” Church protested despite the way blood now stained Tex’s clothes. “The ambulance will be here any minute, they’ll stitch her up, and you can go collect some other souls.”

“It is her time.” The Director finally looked at Church and Church’s shoulders hunched under the cold warning in the Reaper’s eyes. “You of all people know what that means.”

 _“No no, please no, this isn’t fair, this isn’t_ – _please. Please not yet. Not_ – _”_

“Fuck. You.”

Both of them spun around at the exclamation forced out through clenched teeth. Tex stared directly at both of them, blue eyes bright with defiance despite the pain swimming in them. She propped herself up on one elbow, other arm wrapping protectively around her side.

“Ma’am?” asked a bystander now kneeling by Tex’s side.

Tex didn’t respond to the human, instead offering the Director and Church a glare and bared teeth. Then she drew in a sharp breath and twisted her body as she began to try and crawl away.

Without thinking, Church stepped directly between her and the Director.

“You’re going to make it worse,” Church told Tex as the humans around her offered similar protests. The sound of sirens were getting louder and louder as Church kept telling Tex to stop while humans grabbed at her shoulders.

“Not going anywhere,” Tex gritted out, glaring up at Church through the strands of blonde hair falling into her face. He could see the consciousness slowly fading though, and her breath rattled in her throat as bystanders tried to keep her still.

“The paramedics are going to take you to the hospital,” a lady crouched by Tex’s head said, voice threaded with panic.

Tex didn’t react, just kept staring at Church as if daring him to try and touch her. She glanced around him briefly, but Church couldn’t make himself look away to see what the Director was doing.

Instead, Church stretched out his wings as far as he could, blue feathers melding with the colour of the sky above as if the very heavens were offering Tex a cocoon of protection.

“The only place you’re going is a goddamn hospital so they can get that fucking hole stitched up,” Church said.

_“You’re going to fucking hell, that’s where! So don’t you dare come crawling back to me if you leave now!”_

The arrival of the paramedics cut off Tex’s response, and Church stumbled under the sudden weight of ghostly whispers in his mind and the shouts of the present around him. He took a step back as paramedics converged on Tex, moving the bystanders out of everyone’s way.

Church let his wings retract and tried not to stiffen when the Director stepped up beside him. They both watched the paramedics load Tex onto a stretcher and move through the mechanical debris back to the ambulance. A crowd of people watched the scene as they whispered to each other and spoke with the newly arrived police who were attempting to organize the traffic.

The blood coalescing on the concrete under the sweltering sun went ignored by everyone.

“Last I checked,” the Director said slowly, “You were in charge of assisting relationships, _not_ deciding when it was time to collect souls.”

“She wasn’t gonna die,” Church said, both of them watching the ambulance speed off with the wail of sirens. Neither looked at the other and Church resisted the urge to simply fly off. “She made it till the ambulance got here and now they’re gonna fix it up and it will be fine and you can go collect the rest of your souls. I’m sure you’re super busy.”

“As busy as you’re supposed to be, I’m sure,” the Director replied, and Church felt the Reaper’s gaze finally turn to him. “Is that why you were so desperate to save her? She’s a part of your recent assignment?”

The urge to lie rose in Church’s throat, but the words died on his tongue the moment he finally forced himself to meet the Director’s eyes.

“It wasn’t her time,” Church repeated, hating how small his voice suddenly sounded.

_“No, God, I can’t–you can’t fucking do this–I can’t fucking leave–not now–not her–not–”_

“That’s never for you to decide,” the Reaper finally said as Church tried not to stagger at the fragmented memories that kept exploding in his head. “You don’t _decide_ anything for them. You watch and you nudge them toward happiness with each other and that’s _it_.”

The Director exhaled slowly and straightened his tie as Church stayed quiet.

“Now, if you’re all done ruining my schedule?” the Director said, and then disappeared before Church could get out a single word.

For a long time Church simply stood there as the police cleaned up the scene and traffic began moving once more.

He sighed and then launched himself into the clear air.

He wondered if Tucker was having a better fucking day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve both been in love with each for years, this shouldn’t be hard!”

“Pssst, Simmons. Simmons. Siiiiiiiiim–”

“ _What_?” 

“Looking for some extra kiss-ass work?” Simmons looked up from his desk that sat directly across from Grif’s to offer the larger man a glare. “Cuz the case files from A to L in the paper room need to be organized by midnight.”

“Captain Maine gave you that job weeks ago,” Simmons replied, glancing at his computer screen briefly before looking back to Grif’s impatient expression.

“Yeahhhhhhhh, I didn’t do it.”

“Grif!” A couple of the other members of the precinct looked over from their own desks in the open room, but the majority of them had learned within weeks to ignore the two’s antics. “Having proper organization of those cases is vital to everyone’s job!”

“I was busy with other more important and cool detective stuff.”

“Building a card mansion because Connie dared you to doesn’t count,” Simmons snapped, glancing over at the smaller detective briefly where she sat on a call with Tex.

“She bet three boxes of Twinkies and a week of paperwork that I couldn’t do it! That’s the best cause there is!”

“And now you have to pay for the consequences.” Simmons looked down at the files on his desk with a sniff as Grif groaned and leaned back in his office chair.

“C’mon, Simmons. It’s Kai’s birthday! I can’t miss it for some stupid filing shit. That’s what computers are for!”

“I guess you’re just going to have to explain to her why you can’t come,” Simmons replied, refusing to be distracted from his work for any longer.

“Because you’re being an unsupportive asshole?”

“Because I have my own work to do and no time to fix _your_ mess!”

“But Simmons!”

Simmons just ignored him and Grif sighed. “Fine, I’ll send her an email right now.”

He began to piece together the email, tapping one key at a time as slow and loud as he could manage. Every few seconds, he let loose a long sigh and then jabbed another key. With each passing second, Simmons’ face grew more and more pinched as he clenched his teeth and locked his gaze on his desk. “Man, I had the _perfect_ surprise for her this year too. And she was so excited everyone from the precinct was gonna be there. At least she’ll have the rest of you there even if I’m being buried alive by the paperwork. You’ll have to give her an extra hug for me, okay, Simmons?”

Simmons didn’t respond and Grif simply continued to type out the email one letter at a time. Five more minutes oozed by before Simmons closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the ceiling for a long moment. He sighed and then abruptly stood up, Grif’s gaze blatantly tracking the motion.

“Meet me in the paper room in five minutes,” Simmons snapped at Grif who blinked. “We’ll be out of here by 4:30 if you actually contribute.”

Grif beamed at him and climbed to his feet as well. He clapped a hand on Simmons’ shoulder, letting it linger there as he said,

“I’ll be sure to tell Maine all about your hard-work. Maybe even share some of those Twinkies with you so Kai stops thinking your twig limbs will snap at any moment.”

Simmons face went red, and he glanced at Grif’s hand for a few seconds before dragging his gaze upward again to glare at Grif.

“Your hands are covered in powder from those fucking donuts.”

Simmons shook his hand off and stalked toward the room as Grif watched with a grin.

“ _Please_ tell me you’re going to use this as an opportunity to make out.”

Tucker stared at Grif as the bigger man started throwing some of the clutter on his desk into the drawers. Tucker took a step closer, belt loops nearly catching on the edge of Grif’s desk.

“I fucking know you want to!” Tucker told him.

The desire and the conscious thought that went along with it drifted beneath the layers of other thoughts in Grif’s mind like every other day for the past three months. Tucker shoved at that thought, pushing it to the forefront of Grif’s mind and weaving together the vague ideas of the possibilities inherent in the private room into a coherent image of action Grif could take.

The only reaction from Grif was a slight frown as he closed the Internet browser on his computer before heading after Simmons.

“Oh come _on_ ,” Tucker said when he felt Grif stubbornly push away the romantic possibility. Tucker watched his back for a moment and then headed after him, stretching his aqua wings and then stepping into the smaller room where Simmons waited.  

The room was crammed with metal shelves and cabinets overflowing with file folders. There were a couple of stained wooden tables shoved into the middle of room where Simmons stood, only a few inches of space between the folding chairs around the table and the shelves.

It was, in Tucker’s humble opinion, the perfect place for a hard-core make-out session and Tucker glared at both of the men when neither took advantage of that possibility.

“You actually have to do your fair share without moaning about it,” Simmons told Grif as he sunk into one of the folding chairs. Tucker crossed over to one of the shelves to lean against and Simmons took a seat opposite Grif.

“What if I ordered you to go at it and then sat here and watched like every other commanding officer?” Grif asked as Simmons opened up the folders he already brought to the table.

“Grif!” Tucker felt a throb of arousal from Simmons as he screeched his partner’s name.

Grif sighed but a second later opened up the folders. Work didn’t keep the two of them from filling the air with their bickering though, and the longer the innuendo-filled banter continued, the harder Tucker ground his teeth. He crossed his arms and glared at them even though he knew neither of them could see him or be influenced by his physical displays of frustration.

But opening up his senses to them and trying to drag the romantic desires to the surfaces of their minds didn’t work no matter how hard or frequently Tucker tried. He wasn’t even using careful nudges by that point, but shoving at the thoughts as hard as he could.

“Why are you making this so fucking difficult?” Tucker demanded when the only physical contact initiated was Grif poking Simmons with his pencil. “You’ve both been in love with each for _years_ , this shouldn’t be hard!”

Neither human reacted to Tucker’s outburst, and he quelled the urge to just start screaming. Love angels, after all, couldn’t _make_ people fall in love. They couldn’t create feelings out of nothing nor change negative emotions into positive ones unless there were small moments of mutual understanding the human could focus on. All the love angels could do was take already established desires or inclinations and influence those, pushing them to the forefront of a human’s mind or shaping vague notions into concrete actions. They could influence which emotions the human would focus on and which of the possible thought patterns they would fall into.

Their objective was to give those humans who were already on the path to a healthy romance a little extra push when they needed it.

Which was why Tucker was three seconds from shoving these dumb idiots’ faces together rather than watch another minute of their obvious pining.

Of course he couldn’t do that either, but the mental image helped him breathe a little easier.

The two cops finished the paperwork without doing anything beyond their usual flirting that they refused to admit was flirting, and Tucker watched them leave the room. He stayed in the room for a moment even after Simmons turned off the light, listening to the fading sound of the two arguing as they headed back to their desks.

Tucker closed his eyes and breathed a long sigh.

“Fuck it,” he said, and then flew back home.

***

Tucker touched down lightly on the slope leading to the canyon where a complex of grey buildings sprawled across the grass. There were two main, circular buildings with flat roofs that all the other smaller huts spread out from. There hadn’t been as many smaller huts around when Tucker first arrived in one of the several locations designated for love angels within the afterlife. Each province received one location for all of the love angels that worked within that territory, the headquarters for neighbouring province about a twenty minute flight away.

A lazy breeze drifted through the air as Tucker walked down the slope away from the walls of brown rock that encircled the canyon. Several caves loomed from within the rock, and a dozen gaps in the walls allowed Tucker a glimpse of the vegetation beyond.

He only got a couple of steps down before he noticed someone familiar lying on the side of the hill, one arm covering his face and the rest of his limbs stretching out as far as they could.

“Bad day, Church?” Tucker said once he stood above the figure. Church didn’t move an inch, simply grunting up at Tucker instead. “You don’t even wanna swear about it? Really?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

When Tucker kicked him and still got no response, he lasted another five seconds before joining his friend on the ground. He stayed sitting, avoiding the wings Church spread across the grass.

“They’re never going to get together,” Tucker finally said, staring out at the quiet landscape around them. No other angels or other entities were outside at the moment, the sun sinking closer and closer to the ground.

“Who?”

“Who the fuck do you think? The pair I’ve been working on for months!”    

“Oh.” Tucker glanced over at the other angel and saw a frown on his face. “Aren’t they supposed to be soulmates or whatever?”

“Yeah, but they sure as hell aren’t acting like it.”

“Have fun telling Sarge that.”

Tucker squinted down at Church, his words lacking any of the particular brand of vitriol or grumpiness Church was known for.

“Dude, are you okay?” Tucker asked, poking at Church’s shoulder and getting no response. “Seriously, you’re acting like–like–I don’t even know. Someone who’s not the biggest asshole I know?”

“M’fine,” Church grumbled, finally removing his arm from his face to glare at Tucker. “And up yours, asshole. I was just thinking, alright?”

“Please stop before you get us both killed again.”

“Fuck. Your. Self.”

Tucker didn’t move as Church pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing at the sun but keeping his gaze on the dying light rather than looking at Tucker.

“Do you remember anything?” Church asked, words falling slowly from his lips while Tucker stared. “About your life.”

“You know I don’t, dude.” Tucker grasped a handful of grass and ripped the strands out of the ground. “Besides the shitty dying part we all get to remember as some sort of cosmic joke.”

He supposed the forgetfulness might be a defense mechanism gifted to all love angels given the fact that no soul was offered the opportunity to be one unless their love life had been a fucked up affair nobody would want to remember. But before Tucker could muse more about the subject or trigger the singular memory he did possess, the deeper meaning of Church’s words sunk into his brain.  

“Holy fuck, are _you_ remembering shit?” Tucker asked, gaping at Church who looked like he had regretted ever opening his mouth. He jerked his shoulders up and down in the approximation of a shrug.

“I dunno, maybe, probably, hell, I don’t fucking know. It’s not like there’s a _Being a Love Angel for Dummies_ book for this shit.”

“Maybe they should give us one,” Tucker said, raising his arms high above his head and giving both his wings and back a stretch. “We’re all supposed to remember if we’re a love angel long enough, right?”

“Yeah, after fucking _decades_. Centuries if we’re going off Sarge’s claims.”

Tucker snorted at that. Being the oldest love angel in the valley should have called for a certain level of reverence, but both Church and Tucker had lost any shred of such sentiments after ten minutes of talking with the angel.

“You know who you _can_ ask about it,” Tucker said after a moment and Church scowled.

“Cuz he’s so fucking willing to talk about that shit.”

Movement in the sky caught Tucker’s eye and cut off his response. Even with the distance and fading light, Tucker recognized the colours of the angel’s wings and a grin broke across his face.

“Maybe he’ll be in a good mood,” Tucker said, practically jumping to his feet as Church frowned at him.

“Wha–oh you’re fucking kidding me.” Tucker started walking toward one of the two main buildings, not bothering to look over his shoulder to make sure Church followed. He heard the rustle of wings and Church’s complaints continued at the same volume as before. “You’re so fucking whipped, you know that, right?”

“Shut up,” Tucker said as they reached the entrance of the building simply named Blue base. The other large building was eloquently named Red base, and none of the angels had questioned the names or segregation for at least four years.

“Please just bone each other somewhere far, far away from here. The fucking eye sex alone is making me want to die all over again.”

“Don’t let me stop you, dude,” Tucker replied as they entered the empty entrance hallway. With a frown at the lack of anyone else around, Tucker headed toward the large common room in the center of the complex with Church on his heels.

“Church!” The loud shout greeted them the second they passed through the doorway into the common room. Lumpy brown couches were scattered around the room and a large flat screen TV rested on one of the walls. Sometimes Tucker turned it on from the hallway just to see Church jump at the sudden noise, for the device relied solely on their thoughts to function and seemed to know the show or movie they would enjoy even if they couldn’t remember the name of it.

Within seconds, a cheerful face loomed over Tucker and Church as Caboose bounded over from one of the couches to their sides. He nearly sent the small table covered with his drawings and various magazines flying in his haste.

“Hey, Caboose,” Church greeted him with much less enthusiasm.

He sidled around Tucker who just glanced toward the empty kitchen that backed onto the common room. There were dirty plates and cups scattered over the island in the middle of the kitchen from that morning. Love angels technically needed to eat only once every several days, but they were more than capable of eating regularly and enjoying the food they ate.

“I am so glad you’re back,” Caboose said eagerly, walking beside Church when he moved to sit on one of the couches. “Lieutenant Cupcakes has been gone all day and everywhere has been very quiet. But now you are back and I can show you all the drawings I did!”

Tucker perched on an armrest of the couch adjacent to the one Caboose and Church now sat on, the seraph’s smile dimming slightly at the mention of being alone but brightening once more by the end of the sentence.

“Is that why there’s a new painting on the wall?” Tucker asked, gaze catching on the mural of puffy clouds and blue sky now in one corner of room.

Donut, the other seraph in the canyon, had been the one to originally paint the insides of all of the bases. Letting Caboose help resulted in several cartoons splashed across the shifting shades of blue, and he simply continued to add to them whenever he was left alone. Tucker knew his entire room was covered in pictures of their “adventures” by that point.

Caboose turned to him at the question, the “tattoo” all seraphs possessed in place of wings gleaming in the base’s light. The deep blue daisy shifted when his forehead scrunched up, and the vines that trailed down from the flower’s center to frame the seraph’s face moved when he opened his mouth.

“Are you being mean again, Tucker?”

“Legitimate question, Caboose,” Tucker replied as Church snorted beside him. Caboose continued to frown and Tucker just rolled his eyes. “C’mon, dude, you know we actually like your paintings. It’s the one thing you don’t usually fuck up.”

Caboose narrowed his eyes at Tucker but before either of them could start bickering, Church cut in.

“Speaking of fuck-ups, maybe it’s time you get Caboose to help you with your assignment.”

Both of them made faces at that, and Church laughed.

“I’m not that desperate,” Tucker said at the same time Caboose replied,

“But I do not like helping Tucker.”

“Caboose, it’s your _job_ to help all of Blue team’s love angels if we need it,” Tucker reminded him. “That’s what seraphs are for.”

“No, my job is to be Church’s very best friend.”

“Great work so far.” Without waiting for Caboose’s response, Tucker pushed himself off the couch and onto his feet. “But hey, did you see Wash come in?”

Caboose perked up a little bit at Wash’s name, having decided long before Tucker or Church even liked Wash that he would be the seraph’s new friend.  

“Oh yes, but he went away to the rooms very quickly,” Caboose told them. “He looked drained.”

“He _always_ looks drained,” Church snorted, but Tucker just nodded and turned toward the hallway leading to everyone’s individual room. “Hey, Tucker, don’t freak out about Grif and Simmons so much. Some people just aren’t met to be–just look at my assignment.”

“They’re fucking soulmates, dude. And didn’t you _just_ get that assignment?”

Church shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean they have to get together in this lifetime. And yeah, but they hated each other right from the fucking start. Nothing I could have done.”

“Sounds like bullshit, dude,” Tucker said, but didn’t stick around to hear Church’s rebuttal. Instead he ducked into the hallway not much longer than the entrance one, and just as grey. For whatever reason, Caboose nor Donut had decorated the walls yet, but Tucker’s gaze quickly moved from the depressing décor to the figure exiting one of the rooms with his back to Tucker.

“Wash!”

The older angel came to an immediate pause, the grey wings with bands of yellow flaring out briefly before Wash turned around. Tucker bounced up to Wash with a grin, a small answering smile on Wash’s freckled face.  

“Tucker,” the angel greeted him, door swinging shut behind him. “Shouldn’t you be working on your assignment?”

“I’m taking a well-deserved break,” Tucker told him, eyes latching onto the deep circles under Wash’s eyes at the memory of Caboose’s words.

Despite their ascension from the human realm, love angels still needed to sleep. They might not become tired or sick in the human sense, but they could become drained. Tucker didn’t know what happened to a love angel who stayed consistently drained, but sometimes he wondered if Wash was attempting to find out first-hand with the way he resisted sleeping even the meagre four hours a day that love angels needed.

“You’ve made progress then?” Wash asked, mirth dancing in his grey eyes as if already knowing Tucker’s answer.

“Oh yeah, they’re going to a party together and everything,” Tucker replied, gaze taking in every familiar freckle as well as the scar cutting through Wash’s right eyebrow and the thinner scars on each of his cheeks within seconds.

Wash raised an eyebrow at him as Tucker shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.  

“Didn’t you tell me that parties never help them get together?” Wash said. “That they refuse to make out when drunk like ‘normal’ people?”

“Exactly why I don’t need to be there,” Tucker countered. Wash shook his head, but Tucker caught a glimpse of the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Gotta take a break from their bullshit instead.”

“Maybe you should use that time to think of more strategies,” Wash suggested, but his tone lacked the cold judgment from years past when the angel first moved from the neighbouring province’s base into the Blue base to be a more experienced “mentor” for the canyon’s love angels.

“Buzzkill,” Tucker called him. His tone stayed light and Wash just smiled, the word no longer the harsh scrape of words it had been years ago when the two of them only knew how to hate each other and the differences between them. “Maybe _you_ should take a break. Even Caboose noticed how drained you look, dude.”

“I’m fine,” Wash insisted, not even taking a second to consider his answer, and Tucker rolled his eyes. “Besides, I need to talk Sarge.”

“Bullshit,” Tucker snorted. “I bet you can’t even beat me to the abyss you’re so tired.”

Tucker leaned against the wall as he watched Wash’s face carefully for the gleam in his eyes the challenge usually triggered. He only needed to wait a heart-beat for Wash to react his words, amusement shining in Wash’s eyes even as shifted on the spot as if ready to start flying right then and there.

“I could beat you to the abyss blindfolded, Tucker,” Wash said.

“Big words for someone who looks like they’re gonna pass out standing up,” Tucker shot back, grinning as he moved away from the wall. “You actually gonna back that up?”

Wash considered him for a single moment.

“On the count of three,” Wash said, and Tucker’s grin widened. “One, two, three!”

Both of them sprinted down the hall, the space too narrow to use their wings. The moment they exited the base though, their feet lifted off the ground as they both shot into the air. Their wings snapped open, Wash quickly gaining the lead while they flew toward the gaps in the rock wall surrounding the canyon. Tucker watched Wash disappear into the crack before Tucker flew through it and into the open space on the other side.

Though there were many places among the abyss that stretched along the edge of the forest beyond the canyon to the south of the other provinces’ headquarters, there was one particular grove of different types of trees that had become _theirs_.

Tucker watched as Wash flew just inches above the tops of trees along their usual route to the grove. With a grin, Tucker circled lower and lower until he spotted an opening in the leafy canopy of the trees. He dove toward it, branches catching briefly on his wings and snagging on his clothes before he reached the narrow path of gaps he had found only a couple of days ago.

The shortcut allowed him to avoid the ever changing altitude of the canopy of trees, and allowed him to bypass all the hunks of rock that spiralled up above the tree tops in odd formations. The trunks of trees passed by in a brown blur as Tucker dipped and rose and rolled over their branches. Ghostly imprints of animals turned to watch him and startled birds launched themselves out of their nests.

He pulled off a sharp left and laughed as the nonsensical variety of trees already began to thin out. Past a Copaiba tree, around a cluster of Elder trees, darting around a group of pine trees; Tucker kept his wings pulled tighter to his body than he normally preferred but maintained a steady and rapid speed. He let himself drop even closer to the ground, the various colours of flowers flashing by and long grass tickling his bare feet and hands. The air whipping into his face increased in ferocity with fewer trees to shield Tucker’s body, Tucker’s eye’s watering as the sensation of chafed cheeks made his grin widen.

Tucker burst from the main body of the forest into the grove of trees with a loud whoop. He spun around in the air but saw no other angels, only the small semi-circle of trees clustered around the edge of the grassy land. A large sequoia stretched proudly to the sky, while on either side of its base two colourful heather trees twisted toward the sequoia’s sturdy trunk. Olive trees squatted in the middle of the semi-circle with their brushy tops reminding Tucker of fuzzy hair styled upward. Framing the outsides of the grove were wisteria trees, their long purple strands of leaves tickling the tops of the olive tree. A river trickled out from behind the grove and veered to Tucker’s left, tall old willows eagerly dipping their branches into the liquid.

Tucker stepped out onto the soft grass the grove encircled. Air rose from beyond the edge of land in gentle waves meant to caress rather than buffet any angels who chose to fly above or into the gaping abyss, whether for fun or to travel down to earth.

There were no sounds beyond the occasional whistle of wind and Tucker wandered over to the edge as he considered his options. His hair and wings were a mess of twigs and leaves, the grin on his face beginning to ache. Nothing could erase the glee bubbling in his chest though, as he contemplated how to best celebrate his first racing victory against Wash.

Seconds later, inspiration carried Tucker back into the forest. He ducked behind a tree and then turned his attention to the grove, shifting from foot to foot as he waited for Wash’s entrance.

He didn’t have to wait long, Wash’s form diving to the clearing within the grove a moment later. Tucker watched him look around and smile when he saw Tucker absent. Time ticked by as Wash studied the forest and the sky before he finally turned around to face the abyss. Tucker slowly crept out from the forest and darted to the sequoia tree in the grove while Wash let the air lift him a few feet off the ground.

Tucker took a deep breath and then shot out from behind the tree at Wash as fast he could. His hands connected with Wash before Wash noticed his presence, one hand pressing to Wash’s back while the other grasped his side. The instant they connected, Tucker shouted as loud as he could,

“Sneak attack, fucker!”

Pain exploded in Tucker’s face as a fist smashed into his nose. A crunching noise accompanied his shriek, and he went crashing to the hard ground. Eyes squeezed shut, Tucker curled into himself with a groan and clutched at his nose. Warm liquid seeped between his fingers and Tucker winced when his fingers pressed too hard against the aching skin.

“Tucker?” Wash’s soft question broke through the haze of pain settling over Tucker’s mind and he struggled to move. Without uncurling, Tucker managed to open his eyes and lift his head slightly to see Wash staring down at him a few feet away. The confusion tugging his lips into a slight frown and twisting his face reminded Tucker of the few times he saw Wash after he immediately woke from a nightmare.

“Wash,” Tucker croaked out, the concerned question about Wash’s well-being hovering on his lips despite the fact that Tucker was the one who lay on the ground. Before Tucker could get out any more words, understanding flooded Wash’s eyes and horror replaced the confusion straining his face.

“Fuck,” Wash said, and then he was beside Tucker, kneeling on the ground and reaching for Tucker’s hands. “Here, let me see.”

Unlike the fist that smashed Tucker’s face, Wash hands were infinitely gentle as he pulled Tucker’s hands away from his face so he could examine Tucker’s nose. Something akin to guilt ate away the pain when Tucker saw the hints of self-loathing in Wash’s eyes, and Tucker quickly forced himself into a sitting position.

“It’s fine, Wash,” Tucker told him, stretching out his legs and wings. Wash shifted at that, but kept his own wings curled protectively around both of their bodies and didn’t let go of Tucker’s hands. “You know we heal super quick and I’m not a whiney asshole like Church.”

“That’s still up for debate,” Wash said drily, and Tucker felt a spark of triumph at the lightness in Wash’s tone before his body went tight with worry again.

“Are _you_ okay?” Tucker asked, and Wash’s frown only grew at that.

“I’m not the one bleeding.”

“Yeah well–” Tucker offered Wash a small smile. “I should have known by now you hate surprises.” 

Wash looked away from him and finally released their hands. Tucker fought the urge to cling to Wash’s hands to be sure he wouldn’t fly away then and there. The blood had stopped dripping from his nose and the pain was already beginning to fade, angelic body naturally working fast to heal any tears to his immortal body.

“Is it cuz of how you died?” Tucker asked, because Wash looked far away like he always did when remembering his human life.

Wash remembered everything other love angels didn’t, but the memories weren’t gentle nor static objects. They were vicious and hungry creatures that refused to be remembered passively and always made Wash seem like he would disappear right before Tucker’s very eyes when he got lost in them.

It made Tucker want to hunt down whoever allowed Wash’s memories to return and punch _them_ squarely in the face.

“Sorry, Tucker,” Wash finally said, and he looked over at Tucker with a strained smile that Tucker recognized instantly and hated. “It won’t happen again.”

Tucker didn’t press him, for if there was one thing he had learned after four years of knowing Wash and two years of being in love with him, it was when pushing Wash would help, and when the action would only result in a stony stranger striding away from Tucker.

Instead, Tucker nodded and then flung himself back onto the ground. Wash watched him with a bemused look and Tucker grinned up at him, ignoring any bodily aches as he watched the darkening night sky above.

“Well, I’m ready to revel in my victory,” Tucker said, and Wash rolled his eyes.

But a second later the grass rustled as Wash lay down beside Tucker and a comfortable silence carried them into an easy drifting of consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *forces self not to write four years of build-up*
> 
> Caboose's flower is specifically a Gerbera daisy which generally mean innocence, purity, and cheerfulness.
> 
> The precinct is very much based around Brooklyn 99, I'm sure you can guess which characters I see Grif and Simmons as. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the second chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah well,” Tucker said, forcing a shrug as he dangled his legs over the edge just like Wash. “I’ve got an eternity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific warning for the use of a homophobic slur in this chapter.

Any progress Church made with Kimball and Doyle was always ruined less than a day later. After their disastrous first meeting, Church spent a day moving back and forth between their homes as he encouraged them to apologize to each other through email. He never wanted to hear about fucking crumb structures again but at least the two were on more civil terms again.

The next day when they moved onto discussing the catering project over the phone, though, they were screaming at each other again within ten minutes, Kimball slamming down the phone with more cursing than Church normally did on a daily basis. All he could do was stare after her as she stomped up to her room, brain still stuck on the goddamn baking terms the two had been throwing at each other without leaving any pauses for Church to get a handle on the situation.

When he tried again the day after, he was only met with the same results and an ever bigger headache as confusion whirled through him. Both of their intentions and reasons came from such similar places, but the way they wished to go about the project, the types of goods they wanted to make, and all other actions were different. That might not have been a problem if they weren’t both such stubborn people, refusing to consider anything of the other person beyond their frustration for them the second any anger was triggered.

After the first screaming match that occurred over the phone, Church flew out of the house in an irritated huff. It would not be the last time he exited in such a fashion, nor the only time he headed straight for the city’s main hospital.

It only took Church half a day to track down the hospital and room Tex was healing in. At the crash site, he managed to get a lock on her soul, and the ghostly whispers in his head only grew more insistent the closer he got to her.

There were never any other people in the room when Church visited. Only Tex’s bed sat in the airy room, a table stacked with “get well” cards shoved underneath the window letting in the spring sunlight. They always made the white walls gleam even brighter, the lifeless colour coupled with the endless beeping of heavy machines attached to Tex making Church scowl.

There wasn’t much to do beyond flip through the cards and watch Tex. There were stitches on her cheek and her right temple, the thin gash on her forehead disappearing underneath her blonde hair. Even with her the unhealthy pallor of her skin and unmoving, unconscious form, she still looked capable of destroying Church in five seconds. It didn’t make him sit any further away from her when he got tired of simply standing in the corner in a way that Tucker would no doubt make fun of him for.

_“God, you’d be such a terrible nurse. Worst bedside manner ever.”_

When the unfamiliar voices knocked too hard against his head or he grew bored of standing vigil, Church flipped through all of the cards waiting to be read. Through them, he learned Tex was a local cop, which didn’t surprise him the slightest despite having known her for about an hour. The jokes her squadmates left her were as terrible as the ones Donut and Caboose came up with, but the wishes to get well were just as sincere as all of the seraphs’ endless compliments.

A week and a half after the crash, Church still visited Tex in between his increasingly frustrated attempts to get Kimball and Doyle through one friendly conversation without breaking into a shouting match. The middle of the day once more saw no visitors and Church skimmed through a new card that had been dropped off by Tex’s work partner.

Thirty seconds into reading through the note, the back of his neck began to prickle and his wings went perfectly still. Without a word, Church turned toward the bed and white sheets Tex lay on.

She stared straight at him in utter silence.

Church vanished from the room in the time it took her to blink.

***

Nights always reminded Tucker that whatever they might call the strange afterlife they now lived in and whatever title they might give themselves, they didn’t live in Heaven.

Not unless someone had changed the Bible in the time Tucker had been dead to claim angels within Heaven suffered from constant nightmares.

For the second time that week, Tucker jolted awake in the pitch black of his bedroom. His breath caught in his throat for one painful moment as muscles seized with phantom pain. He could barely see anything as his eyes blinked rapidly, searching every dark corner for his assailants. Without thought, his hand moved to clutch at his pained stomach.

When he finally realized the laughter and slurs were echoes inside his head, and no blood spilled from between his fingers, the breath punched out of Tucker all at once. His muscles slowly began to relax and he stiffly moved his hand to press the heel of his palm against his forehead. With his eyes closed he almost felt alive again, though the sensation of wings spread beneath him quickly reminded him of the reality.

Tucker opened his eyes again and stared at the dim moonlight falling through the window set high on the wall opposite his door. His breath continued to shake when it left his lips and after a few more seconds, he pushed himself into a sitting position, wings brushing against the two intersecting walls his bed had been shoved into the corner of.

Sweat beaded along his forehead and Tucker struggled to free his legs from the sticky sheets that wrapped around his legs. Technically love angels couldn’t feel extreme heat or extreme cold, but after every nightmare Tucker’s skin felt like he’d just come out of an oven, and the cool air filled his chest with a comforting bliss when it kissed his bare skin.

For a moment, Tucker sat with his arms wrapped around his bent knees as his thoughts swirled slowly through his mind, only half-formed and tinged with the lingering panic of his nightmare. When his heart continued to pound and the rest of his body stayed wide awake, Tucker dragged a hand through his dreads with a mumbled curse. Then he climbed off the bed and headed to his door.

The hallways were quiet when Tucker eased open his door and stepped into the narrow space. There were dim panel lights where the walls met ceiling, set to a night-time setting that made the dusky darkness stretch in every direction. After looking both ways and listening to the heavy silence, Tucker began to tap his knuckles against the wall.

Keeping the pace of his tapping steady, Tucker ambled down the hallway. Only seven seconds passed before he heard a small clicking noise and then one of the doors a couple feet down the hall on the left opened.

Church stepped from the doorway with a look in Tucker’s direction and Tucker lowered his arm back to his side. Though Church’s body hunched protectively and he shuffled forward as if just woken, the eyes he locked onto Tucker were bright and clear of drowsiness.

“The others?” Church asked when he reached where Tucker came to a halt in the hallway.

“Dunno,” Tucker replied, glancing at the other closed doors. Church just nodded, for it was rare for the other angels to respond to the steady tapping Church and Tucker had decided to use to check if anyone else had been woken by their nightmares and couldn’t fall back sleep. Caboose simply walked into one of their rooms and woke them up when he couldn’t sleep, and Wash–well, Wash was a work in progress.

“I think I heard noises coming from Caboose’s room,” Church said, and the two looked toward the seraph’s door before swinging their gaze back to each other. “I’ll get him, you check on Wash?”

“Already going,” Tucker replied, and turned on his heel to head to the bedroom at the far end of the hallway.

He knocked gently on the grey door a few times with no response. After the third time, Tucker slowly pushed open the door and peeked his head through the doorway. “Wash?”

Nothing but silenced greeted his words, and Tucker moved further into the room to get a better look at the bed.

Only crumpled blankets and wrinkled sheets filled the bed and Tucker headed back to the hallway without a single shred of surprise weighing him down.

The hallway was empty again, but now Tucker could clearly hear muffled noises coming from Caboose’s bedroom. Tucker followed the sound and then quickly ducked into Caboose’s room.

Both Caboose and Church sat on the seraph’s bed, Caboose huddled in a shaking ball and Church resting a hand on his shoulder from where he sat upright beside him. Tucker couldn’t make out the words from where he stood, but Church’s voice was quiet and soft in a way it only was when trying to ease one of them out of a nightmare’s grip.

“Wash isn’t in his room,” Tucker said quietly, and Church looked over at him. He simply nodded and Tucker hurried away from the sound of the gasping breaths Caboose dragged into his desperate lungs, the last noise he ever made before suffocating in a mining cave-in.

Tucker spared the common room a cursory once-over and then headed outside when Wash’s presence remained absent. He checked the roof briefly but found the location lacking any other love angels. No noises but the wind could be heard beneath the night sky, and Tucker spared the Red base only a single glance, knowing the Reds possessed their own post-nightmare routine.

Then he leapt into the air and snapped his wings open. Tucker glided through the air toward the canyon wall, shooting through the gaps with much less speed than during his daily flights. His muscles protested at first, but the longer he flew through the night air, the easier it became to breathe. The images from his nightmare and their malicious whispers couldn’t keep pace with his flight, and the rushing air wiped away any remaining sweat. By the time he arrived at the mismatched grove of trees, Tucker could smile again.

From above, Tucker spotted the grey wings and hunched position of an angel sitting by the abyss. A second later, Tucker landed as softly as he could behind Wash, feet slowly sinking into the green grass that tickled his bare feet. For a long moment Tucker said nothing, but simply studied Wash’s slumped body where he sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the land.

A cool night breeze ruffled Tucker’s feathers as he started his inspection at the top of Wash’s head where his blond hair stuck up in a tangled mess from sleeping and sweat. From there Tucker’s gaze moved down Wash’s exposed neck to where a thin scar slashed across the spinal bumps just above the collar of his grey pyjama shirt.

Even in their slumped state, Wash’s shoulders still possessed a tension Wash carried everywhere. Tucker always felt something squeezing the bones of his ribcage when he spotted the underlying tenseness, so he quickly dropped his gaze down to the curve of Wash’s back. Seeing Wash without a shirt was a rare occurrence, but Tucker had memorized each of the small scars and freckles that dotted Wash’s pale skin, and Tucker pictured each one as his eyes moved from knob to knob of Wash’s spine.

The slope of Wash’s arms distracted Tucker after that, Wash’s body blocking his hands from Tucker’s view where they rested in Wash’s lap.

“I keep telling you, you’re never gonna fall back asleep if you come out here after you wake up,” Tucker finally said. Wash didn’t move except for the slightest turn of his head.

“I think you’ll have to keep telling me that for a long time before it sinks in,” Wash replied after a long moment, and all the exhaustion felt in a lifetime and then some weighed down his voice.

Tucker closed the small distance that separated them and lowered himself beside Wash, muscles aching from the late hour.

“Yeah well,” Tucker said, forcing a shrug as he dangled his legs over the edge just like Wash. “I’ve got an eternity.”

Wash turned fully to look at Tucker at that. Tucker leaned back on his elbows, glancing at Wash’s shaking hands where they pressed against his thighs before meeting Wash’s gaze. The other love angel turned away a second later, and Tucker couldn’t look away from the profile of Wash’s face cast in the bright starlight of the afterlife.

“I got shivved,” Wash said suddenly, and Tucker stared at him.

“What?”

“You asked me how I died. I got shivved.”

Tucker learned early on that words about the past didn’t fall easily or gently from Wash’s mouth. Even when his voice stayed soft and the words plopping from his lips were tired, the admittance still found a way to cling to Wash’s mouth and make it sound like each new syllable cut Wash open. They tangled on his tongue, incapable of separating fully from whatever emotion Wash wished to drain from them and keep hidden even from his own eyes.

When they finally left him and slammed through the air into their target, they refused to be tamed. They scratched at eardrums, bit into exposed skin, and burrowed their way into grey matter where they left an incoherent mess of bloody confessions and grotesque truths.

“You got shivved,” Tucker repeated. The words slowly settled in his brain while Wash refused to look at him. “Holy shit, you were in prison?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wash replied, a familiar bitterness running through his voice.

Tucker bit his lip to keep from replying with something about Wash’s ex-lover, for he knew by now which forms of Wash’s bitterness stemmed from a hurt turned rotten by long years of living with the memory of someone he loved fucking up everything.

Instead Tucker kept his tone light as he said,

“I mean, it kinda matters if you ki–”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Wash interrupted, looking over at Tucker once more. His eyes were bright, a little bit of energy returning and drawing his shoulders up perfectly straight in a way that made Tucker instinctively respond by pushing into an upright sitting position. “I didn’t–I didn’t hurt anyone. Nothing that bad.”

When Wash gazed back out at the stars, Tucker once more glanced at Wash’s hands. They were still shaking and Tucker resisted the urge to grab them in his own.

“I didn’t do well there,” Wash admitted after a pause. “The other inmates who were there for worse crimes and were at the top of the prison hierarchy–they didn’t like me very much. They didn’t like that I fought back. So one day, they jumped me.”

Tucker couldn’t look away when Wash met his eyes directly, something akin to a desperate apology lining his tired face.

“They grabbed the back of my shirt and yelled, ‘sneak attack, faggot’ and slid the shiv in my side.”

Tucker blinked for a couple of seconds before understood why the words sounded familiar. His eyes widened and the oxygen in his lungs solidified into a choking mass as his own gleeful shout from a week and a half ago echoed in his brain.

“Oh shit,” he got out. Wash just kept staring at him “Shit, I’m so sorry, Wash, I–”

“You didn’t know,” Wash cut him off smoothly, stars grabbing his attention once more. “And I _did_ punch you.”

“Pretty sure those assholes deserve more than that,” Tucker muttered, watching one corner of Wash’s mouth twitch upward in response.

They fell quiet for a long moment.

“Nightmares wake you up too?” Wash asked. Tucker looked down at his own lap, the folds of his shorts bunching up above his knees.

“Yeah, you know,” Tucker said with a nonchalance he didn’t feel at the reminder. “Same old same old.”

Tucker’s hand instinctively moved to cover the spot in his abdomen where he had been stabbed in a back alley at two in the morning after leaving a bar drunk. He could never remember his assailants’ faces, but he could easily recall their sneers and the racial slurs that poured from their lips and hung over Tucker as he bled out on the damp ground.

Tucker jolted from his thoughts as Wash curled a warm hand around Tucker’s.

“Sorry,” Wash said quietly, and Tucker couldn’t get out any words when he saw the righteous anger burning in Wash’s eyes.

Warmth from Wash’s hand oozed into Tucker’s abdominal muscles until he forgot all about the sensation of skin slick with blood and the creeping chill that accompanied a fading life. He couldn’t keep his fingers from wrapping around Wash’s in response, but Wash simply tightened his grip before looking back up at the sky. Their hands stayed tangled in each other’s, the edges of their wings brushing against each other’s every few seconds.

When Wash didn’t try taking his hand back after five minutes, Tucker let himself relax and accept the contact as the grounding point he often craved from Wash. Both of them stayed quiet after that, shifting their gazes from the stars to the dark abyss always awaiting their plunge. They occasionally snuck glances of the other, the sight of Wash growing more relaxed making Tucker want to smile every time.

The stillness of the night around him and the warmth of Wash’s body quieted the last remnants of Tucker’s nightmare. Drowsiness settled over him even as he felt a thrill every time his wings brushed against Wash’s.

Eventually Tucker knocked his shoulder against Wash’s, earning a startled look. He pulled his hand away from Wash’s despite the way his whole body begged for even more contact.

“C’mon,” Tucker said, and climbed to his feet. Wash looked up at him but imitated him without protest at the sight of Tucker’s grin. “We better make sure Church and Caboose don’t blow up the base making cookies.”

Wash groaned a little but followed Tucker into the air without protest, their wings and the stars’ light the only spots of colour against the black backdrop of the night sky.

***

 

Tucker glared at Simmons where the man sat at his desk chewing on the end of his pen. Documents lay untouched in front of him, though at least he possessed the appearance of one doing work. Across from him, Grif was leaning as far back as he could in his chair with his eyes closed to the space around them crammed with the desks of all of the stations’ cops. The door to Captain Maine’s office remained closed, leaving no one who would bother poking those detectives who weren’t currently buried in their work into action.

“For the love of everything good in this world,” Tucker said to Simmons. “ _Please_ ask him.”

Tucker had switched from attempting to push at Simmons’ thoughts to speaking out loud to him five minutes prior. Not that the human could hear him, but at this point attempting to push Simmons past his hesitations mentally was as ineffective as begging him out loud. At least speaking allowed Tucker to vent some of his frustrations.

“You’re not gonna have any fucking pen left soon,” Tucker told him. The angel stood to the side of Simmons’ desk, inches away from the crack where the fronts of Simmons and Grif’s were pushed together. “Seriously, you’ve been thinking about this all morning, just fucking do it.”

Simmons glanced up at Grif as he paused his chewing, and Tucker sent an extra hard shove at the thoughts in Simmons’ head that would lead him to asking Grif on a date. A few seconds passed, and then Simmons looked back down at his papers without a word.

“Oh my god,” Tucker moaned, and dragged his hands over his face. “You don’t even have to say anything at this point–just get the tickets out of your bag and throw one in his fucking face.”

Simmons lowered his pen and started to fill out one of the documents in front of him.

“I am fucking _begging you_ , dude, throw me a goddamn bone!”

“Hey, Simmons.”

Simmons nearly sent the cup of his coffee on his desk crashing to the ground at the sudden greeting. Grif shot upright in his seat, eyes flying open as Tucker looked up to the other side of Simmons’ desk where another cop now stood.

“Hi, Tex,” Simmons greeted the blonde detective and managed to give her a smile. Tucker rolled his eyes a little at the shreds of caution he could feel emanating from Simmons despite how long everyone at the station had worked with each other. “Is–uh–are you feeling okay still?”

“Seriously, why the fuck are you back already?” Grif cut in. “If I was you, I’d be milking the whole hit by a car thing for _at least_ another week. And asking for two cakes instead of just the one you got today.”

“Some of us actually _like_ working, Grif,” Simmons snapped. “And know our job is important.”

“Okay, kiss–”

“I heard you got tickets to this weekend’s robotics convention, Simmons,” Tex interrupted before the two could start arguing. Both men gaped up at her while Tucker threw his arms into the air in relief.

“ _Thank_ you,” Tucker told her, her eyes not even flickering in his direction. Instead she gazed at Simmons expectantly, arms crossed over her stomach and fingers splayed protectively over the spot where her side had been stitched up.

“Um, yeah, I did,” Simmons replied, eyes gliding over to Grif before quickly looking back to Tex. “A friend of mine got me two.”

Before Tucker could celebrate the small victory and analyze either of the men’s thoughts, Grif snorted.

“Sounds like one of the lamest things you’ve ever gotten involved in,” Grif said. “And you’ve done some pretty lame shit, Simmons.” 

Tucker froze and any of Simmons’ desires to ask Grif to join him died in an instant.

“You’re the lame one, Grif,” he snapped as Tucker contemplated just lying down right then and there in defeat. “This is cutting-edge technology–this is the future!”

“Nerd stuff,” Grif said, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “Count me out.”

“Who said I was even going to ask you to come?” Simmons shot back, hand curling around his pen in a tight fist. “You’d just cramp my style.”

“You have an actual style to being a loser?”

“I was going to ask Sheila,” Simmons continued through gritted teeth, and Tucker nearly stumbled under the force of surprise that rolled off Grif at that declaration.

“No,” the receptionist called over without looking up from her computer screen. Grif laughed and Tucker contemplated punching the man even as he tried to quell Simmons’ own urges to lash out.

“Well, Connie then,” Simmons said, and shock once more pulsated from Grif. “ _She_ appreciates the important things in life.”

With that he grabbed the tickets from his bag resting beneath his desk and stomped over to where Connie poured over some case files with a frown at the pair of desks directly behind Simmons’. Grif watched him go with a shake of his head, lips drawing downward when Connie smiled and nodded her head after listening to Simmons explain the situation.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tucker groaned to the room at large.

“Jesus Christ,” Tex muttered, and returned to her desk across from Connie’s.

Tucker waited a little longer, but when Simmons sat back down with a triumphant smile and he and Grif retreated into a sullen silence toward the other, Tucker gave up for the day.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend drew Church and Tex: http://grimmonsed.tumblr.com/post/135209231100/happy-birthday-gracer222-i
> 
> Sorry for the long wait. School has been a hectic mess but I promise I'm doing my best to continually chip away at this. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and thank you for all the comments and kudos!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh no, Lopez had the brilliant idea of starting a food fight to make everyone deliriously happy. And then they kissed the whip cream right off each other’s lips.”

When Church checked Tex’s hospital room for the first time since he caught her staring at him, he found the room empty. For one minute he simply stood in the middle of the room, thoughts freezing and gaze locked on the bed. The next two minutes found his heart-rate spiking as his mind gifted him with a thousand different scenarios involving the Director once more showing up to take Tex’s soul.

When he finally broke free of his panic and remembered he was a love angel who could fucking sense souls, it took him three seconds to get a lock on Tex’s still living one.

He shot through the exterior hospital wall without a single look back and flew halfway across the town to where Tex’s soul resided in a small bachelor’s apartment.

Without considering any of the many negative consequences, Church materialized right in the middle of Tex’s living room.

No noise accompanied his landing, which gave him less than a minute to look around. He had enough time to realize that the entire apartment was an open concept layout, before Tex whirled around from the kitchen’s island to level a gun at his chest where he stood on the hardwood floor of her bedroom and living room.

The pistol pointed at Church’s face didn’t waver as he stood still studying Tex. She looked paler than she had the first time Church saw her, and though she stood perfectly ready to attack with her knees slightly bent and her arms straight, he saw wisps of pain in her bright eyes. Her last dosage of painkillers beginning to wear off, maybe, or simply the strain of a full workday with an incompletely healed injured.

_“Could you please just go five fucking seconds without whining so much? It’s like I’m hanging out with a child, not my boyfriend.”_

“Do you always keep a gun with your kitchen knives?” Church asked, exasperation filling his voice even while a relieved happiness unfurled in his chest at seeing her alive and standing. His gaze flitted over her shoulders briefly to take in the mess of ingredients scattered across the black and white laminate countertops, before he drank in the sight of her once more.

“Yes,” Tex answered simply, gaze never leaving Church as he kept his body as relaxed as he could. “Come closer and I’ll shoot it.”

“Already dead,” Church told her, for once feeling smug at that fact. “Or are the wings not enough of a give-away for you?”

“I’ll find a way to kill you again,” Tex replied without a second’s pause.

Church believed her.

“Look, I’m not here to hurt you,” Church said, words rushing from his mouth in his unprepared state. The constant gun being pointed at him unnerved him even if the object could no longer kill him, and he spent a split second berating himself for not considering how to have a conversation with her _before_ he charged into her apartment. “I’m not a Reaper, I’m a love angel. I don’t have anything to do with taking souls to the afterlife and shit.”

“A love angel,” Tex repeated. She considered Church’s wings for a moment before meeting his gaze. “That something different from the harp-loving creatures from the Bible?”

“I’m not carrying a fucking harp, that’s for sure.”

“Your voice doesn’t exactly sound like the stuff of dreams either,” Tex shot back.

_“Come on, just one song! It_ is _my birthday.”_

_“You know I fucking suck at singing. No amount of tequila shots will change that.”_

_“God, you are such an ass.”_

Church spluttered, ability to form coherent words stolen by the echoes of past words bouncing off the insides of his head. A smirk tugged at Tex’s lips but she kept the gun trained on Church.

“We help humans get together,” Church finally told her once the whispering retreated back into the shadows of his forgotten memories. Another whisper that sounded annoyingly like Tucker pointed out telling a human all about the love angels’ relatively secret existence might not be the best idea he’d ever had.

“Like Cupid?” Tex asked, snagging Church’s attention once more and silencing any voices of caution. Despite her alert stance, Church could spot no fear in the edges of her body, and she waited for him to answer despite any desire she might have to kick him out.

“Yeah, sure. But it’s a lot more fucking complicated than just shooting both people with some magic love arrow and then tapping out. The humans gotta already want the other person, but for whatever stupid reason, aren’t asking them out on their own. So we give them the push and make everyone happy.”

Tex cocked her a head a little at his explanation. The gun lowered a fraction, but she didn’t place it back on the counter or return it to the holster still wrapped around her waist. When she frowned at him, he added.

“We don’t like mind control people or anything, and we can only influence the humans we’re assigned to getting together. We just–nudge them. Or shove depending on how fucking idiotic and frustrating they’re being.”

“Speaking from experience?” Tex asked, and Church pushed away any thoughts of his current assignment.

“Humans in general are fucking idiots,” he snapped instead, and–

_He’s going to regret this, he knows even before the words leave his mouth. If he’s lucky he’ll be drawn into a verbal spat, if he’s not lucky he’ll be stumbling home with a broken nose, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He can never seem to stop himself._

He blinked and Tex stared at him. After so many years of humans’ gazes simply glossing right over him, the eye contact made Church tilt his whole body toward her and caused excitement to skitter all over his skin and wings.

“Is there a particular reason I can see you?” she asked. Her voice had stayed composed for all of the other questions, but a crack slipped in at that one, making Church think she had made a comment when he had been stuck in a sudden memory.

“You nearly died. Near death experiences let humans see all sorts of supernatural shit like love angels. Rest of the time, we’re invisible to anyone who doesn’t have a psychic ability.”

“But you look solid,” Tex replied without a moment’s pause. “And if you’re invisible but solid, sounds like you could fuck up a lot of shit.”

The grip Tex kept on the gun at her side stayed easy, but Church saw her tap it against her thigh as if warning him. That action coupled with the shrewd look she gave him reminded Church that he was not just dealing with another skeptical human, but a skeptical human who had worked as a _cop_ for many years.

“Nah,” Church said with a shrug, letting nonchalance seep into his voice despite being certain that Tex could shoot him full of holes in the time it took him to a blink. “We can’t actually touch anything or anyone unless we have the human’s explicit consent. Which, since most of you can’t fucking see us, doesn’t happen often. It’s why we need seraphs if we want to manipulate the physical setting a little bit to get the humans together.”

With Tex watching him, Church took a step toward her double bed that rested to his right side. “See if I wanted to sit on this and just chill when you weren’t in that space, then it be fine, I could do that. But as soon as I try and touch it with the intention of fucking shit up, I’m fucked.”

Once Church stood an inch away from the maroon blankets, he reached out a hand to the touch the surface of the bed. Invisible chains locked his hands in place, an unseen barrier hovering a few inches above the blankets to keep Church’s fingers from touching the surface. No matter how much he gritted his teeth or clenched the muscles in his arm and shoved his hand toward the bed, he couldn’t even brush the surface.

“See?” Church said, and turned back to Tex. He offered her an arrogant smile. “No need to be afraid of the big bad love angel.”

Tex snorted, and finally placed the gun on the counter with a small clatter.

“I don’t need a magical barrier to protect myself from _you_.” She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. After giving Church a slow once over, she shrugged. “Alright, makes sense.”

“I–wait, really?” Church gaped at her. “That–you’re accepting all of it just like that?”

“Would you rather I argue with you? Maybe scream a little bit?”

_“You always make other people the bad guy! Why can’t you just accept responsibility for once in your fucking life?”_

“No that’s fine I just–no.”

“I saw you at the hospital,” Tex said, and Church couldn’t decipher any of the emotions in her voice or facial expression. “I saw you and some other asshole after I crashed. I’ve seen shit since I got out of hospital and now you’re standing in front of me, and you’re explaining a pretty simple concept. What’s not to get? Besides your wings being blue, but I’m assuming it’s just cuz you’re a shitty love angel.”

“I’m a fucking amazing love angel, thank you very much,” Church snapped at her, the reaction only making her smirk. “All love angels have different coloured wings.”

“Uh-huh.” She tilted her head and studied him once more as he drew his wings closer to his body and a sullen look crossed his face. “So are you here cuz I’m your new target?”

“God, no,” Church said, face scrunching up at the thought. “I’d be here till you fucking died if that happened.”

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve got anything better to do.” She uncrossed her arms and shoved her hands into her pockets while Church mirrored her relaxed body posture. “So why are you here then?”

“You nearly died. I figured I should make sure you were okay.”

“Aw, how sweet,” Tex said sarcastically. “But you saw I was okay at the hospital.”

She kept staring at him, and Church found he couldn’t look away even though he didn’t have an answer for her questions. “So why track me down?”

_She’s on the floor laughing and she’s on the chair crying and she’s on the bed moaning._

_He’s on the floor grinning and he’s on the chair scowling and he’s on the bed whimpering._

_She’s singing and he’s watching and they’re both in so goddamn deep they can’t see all the ways they’re tearing the other apart._

“Curiosity,” Church finally got out. The space of the apartment seemed to stretch out around them, and the sparse furniture and lack of walls made breathing easier for Church.

“Oh really,” Tex said, a single eyebrow lifting at that.

“Yup,” Church said, popping the ‘p’ as much as he could. Tex snorted and her phone began to ring. She didn’t move to pick up the object, letting the voicemail cut the noise off as she continued to study Church. “Why haven’t you kicked me out?”

“Curiosity,” Tex replied with a smirk. Then she moved back around the island to pick up a knife and the onion she had been cutting, looking up at Church with a challenge in her eyes.

For the first time since Church got his new assignment, he grinned at the possibilities the future days held.  

***

“Oh, hey, Tucker!”

Tucker nearly tripped right off the roof at the sudden shout. The frantic beating of his wings kept him upright and he looked over the edge of the Blue base once he regained his balance. Grinning and scowling up at him were Donut and Lopez, Donut offering Tucker a wave while Lopez looked ready to go hide from everyone for the next decade.

“What’s up?” Tucker asked as he leapt down from the roof to land lightly in front of the pair. Both seraph and love angel’s clothing were stained, bits of pie crust tangled in their wings and hair. So much blueberry jam covered Donut’s face, Tucker could only see the stems of Donut’s pink Delphinium tattoo. “Uh, have a bit of trouble on your assignment?”

“Not at all,” Donut assured him cheerfully. “They’re together now and perfectly happy. We were just going to check in with Sarge and Wash.”

“You decided to celebrate with a food fight?”

“Oh no, Lopez had the brilliant idea of starting a food fight to make everyone deliriously happy. And then they kissed the whip cream right off each other’s lips.”

“ _Te dije que deberíamos tener Jones hornear un pastel de arándanos y puso una nota en la parte superior invitarla a salir . ¿Cómo se llega ' destruyes la cocina y la ropa con alimentos ' de eso?_ ” (I told you we should have Jones bake a blueberry pie and put a note on top asking her out. How do you get ‘destroy the kitchen and their clothes with food’ from that?)

“That fucking worked?” Tucker shook his head and crossed his arms. “Maybe I should try that. Grif _does_ love food more than anything.”

“Aw, you still not having any luck with them?” Donut asked, eyes wide with sympathy while Lopez snorted beside him.

“ _Estás sorprendido? Los dos son idiotas y sargento estaba dispuesto a renunciar a uno de ellos una experiencia cercana a la muerte última vez , para simplemente juntos._ ” (Are you surprised? They’re both idiots and Sarge was ready to give one of them a near-death experience last time just to get them together.)

“You’re right, Lopez!” Donut slammed a fist into the palm of his hand and gave Tucker a smile as bright as the sun shining above them. “You should just ask Sarge for advice!”

“Hell no,” Tucker protested at the same time Lopez replied,

“ _Qué tengo que hacer para que deje de traducir para mí ? En serio , yo preferiría tener ese idiota azul como mi serafín._ _”(_ What do I have to do to make you stop translating for me? Seriously, I would rather have that Blue idiot as my seraph) _._  

“But he’s been the love angel assigned to them for generations!” Donut protested. “More than ten reincarnations! He must have loads of advice for them by now.”

“Yeah, exactly why I can’t go to him. You know how pissed he was that he had to give up the assignment this time around, even more pissed that it went to me instead of Lopez.”

Not that any of the love angels were to blame for the older one’s promotion. After decades of being a love angel, it only made sense that Sarge would be entrusted with both higher priority and a greater amount of assignments on a daily basis, as well as keeping track of the other love angels in the valley. Despite his pride in now being only one rank below Vic just as Wash was, Sarge still acted like a sulky child over the transfer of Grif and Simmons’ assignment to someone else.

“ _Que acababa de matar a ambos_ ,” Lopez said, picking at the globs of food clinging to his brown corduroy pants and black t-shirt. _(I’d just kill them both)_  

“Aw, come on, Tucker,” Donut said, scratching briefly at the jam now beginning to crust along his bare skin.

When his fingers brushed the layer on his face, flakes fell away to reveal the spider web shaped scar covering the left side of Donut’s face with its thin, white lines. “You miss out on so much when you avoid the angry ones!”

Tucker blinked at him for a single second before just shaking his head and moving forward with the conversation.

“That would mean you find Church a joy to be around.”

To Donut’s credit, the kind smile on his face didn’t falter, and Tucker sighed. He offered Donut his own winning grin. “Don’t worry about it, Donut, I’ll get them together soon. If I need help I’ll ask Wash–at least _he_ won’t go on a rant about us dirty Blues.”

“ _Él es mucho más sutil con su suficiencia también. A veces_ ” (He’s much more subtle with his smugness too. Sometimes _._ )

“You’re right, Lopez!” Donut gave his partner a grateful look before turning back to Tucker. “If you haven’t figured it out soon, you can always ask Sarge about it at the full canyon sleep-over in a couple weeks. Those always put him in a great mood!”

“ _Eso es todo, me voy a ahogarme en la ducha_.” (That’s it, I’m going to go drown myself in the shower _._ ) 

Lopez started to walk back toward Red base without another word as the other two watched him go.

“Seriously, doesn’t anyone else find it weird that we can’t automatically understand him when we’re fucking dead?” Tucker asked. “I mean, shouldn’t one of the perks of being a supernatural creature include knowing all the languages? Would probably make our job easier.”

Donut just shrugged, the seraph having existed within the canyon and alongside Sarge and Lopez for much longer than any of the Blues.

“Donut!” Both of them glanced toward the Red base at the sound of Sarge’s shout. Even from their distance, Tucker could make out the grey and green combat uniform Sarge always wore, despite the fact that the man had died long before the twenty-first century.

“Get your keister in here!” he called to the seraph, hands on his hips. “We’re having a full team meeting.”

“Coming, Sarge!”

“Hey, if you and Lopez don’t have another assignment soon, you mind checking in on Caboose?” Tucker asked before the seraph headed off. “I don’t know where Wash is today, and you know how Caboose gets when he’s alone for a while.”

“Of course! I read through the most _fascinating_ article on nature décor while Lopez and I were downstairs, and I’d love to share it with Caboose.”

“Just don’t destroy the base,” Tucker said, stretching his wings in the bright sunlight while Donut headed off toward his team’s headquarters.

After a moment of watching him go, Tucker shot into the air. With Donut’s words about the possible need of asking Sarge for help bouncing inside his head, Tucker decided to materialize directly in the mortal plane rather than fly out to the abyss and then fly down from there. He appeared on the middle of a sidewalk, only needing a second to spot Grif and Simmons where they were walking together past the storefronts, an orange beanie stuffed on top of Grif’s head. They were well into April and the Hawai’ian man still insisted the weather was too cold for him despite the lack of snow on the ground, something Simmons and everyone else at work teased him relentlessly for. Tucker fell into step behind them, doing a quick assessment of their emotional states. Both were happy as they argued over what they should get Connie for her upcoming birthday. The source of their euphoria became clear a moment later when they all turned the corner and the bakery belonging to Vanessa Kimball rose into view.

“–just saying, South will kill us if we fuck up,” Simmons was saying as they reached the white door of the bakery. “So we shouldn’t just buy the first thing you think of. _Especially_ not that idiotic of a gag gift.”

“She won’t kill us,” Grif argued, following Simmons into the warm air of the small bakery.

Red benches and their white tables lined the side walls, with the entire front wall consisting of one large glass window. The display of baked goods stood directly across from the doorway, blackboard crammed with neat hand writing placed on the wall above. “Connie loves us too much.”

“Fine, but she’ll use it as blackmail for years,” Simmons insisted as they stopped in front of the clean, white counter. A bell had rung at their entrance but for the moment, no one appeared in the store to help the bickering pair.

“Yo.”

Tucker turned at the familiar voice to see Church lounging in one of the corners behind the counter. He gave the humans an amused smirk and then unpeeled himself from the white wall to join Tucker where he stood in the middle of the room.

“This bakery belongs to your assignment?” Tucker asked, Church offering him a glare in response.

“Way to fucking pay attention.”

“Says the asshole who took months to remember my guys were cops.”

“Shitty cops,” Church clarified, and Tucker returned the glare.

“They just solved a pretty hard case,” Tucker pointed out. “Even their scary ass captain said they did a good job.”

Simmons was still riding the high from that compliment, and Grif’s mood stayed firmly in happy territory thanks to the promise of baked goods. Since the two first became work partners, they had made a deal to go to the bakery together after every successful case, and they had yet to break that promise. Their last case took them a month to complete, and Grif only waited three days before complaining about the difficulty and lack of baked goods.

Church snorted just as Kimball finally appeared from the backroom with a blue apron over her tan t-shirt and dark jeans. She offered the two men a smile and familiar greeting as years ago their precinct helped solve a case involving a rash of bakery break-ins, Kimball’s bakery one of the several victimized shops.

“Aw shit,” Grif said, patting down the pockets of his cargo pants with a distressed look while Kimball waited for their orders.

“No,” Simmons said, the second Grif looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Simmons, come on.”

“No way! You always ‘forget’ your wallet!”

“But this time I really did forget it!”

“That’s what you always say!”

“Okay, now I almost feel sorry for you,” Church commented as the two love angels watched the back and forth exchange. Kimball observed from behind the counter with a faint smile and Tucker simply shrugged.

“Eh, you get pretty used to it.”

“Movie of your choice,” Grif offered after another minute of arguing. “And only two minutes of calling you a fucking nerd for it.”

Simmons narrowed his eyes at his partner, one hand resting on the belt his holster hung from.

“One minute,” Simmons finally replied. “And you pay for the food too. You owe me at least one full paycheck with all the food I’ve bought you.”

“Just one minute? Really?”

Simmons glanced toward the display and offered Grif a smirk.

“You know, that cheesecake looks really fresh.”

“Just put it out half an hour ago,” Kimball offered, and Grif groaned.

“You’re both horrible people,” he told them, Kimball just giving him a slight smile and Simmons giving him an expectant look. “Fine, deal.”

Simmons nodded and the two gave Kimball their order, Simmons buying a single butter tart for himself while Grif got two massive slices of fudge cheesecake dripping with caramel. The two took their usual seat in the right corner by the window, both eagerly accepting the water Kimball brought out to them as they made up stories about the people walking by the store.

“So,” Church said, something akin to horror dawning on his face while Tucker tried not to feel too glum about the absence of any deviation from the two human’s usual routine. “Is that movie not going to be considered a date? At all?”

“‘Friends go see movies together all the time!’” Tucker said, using air quotes for the thought that had run through both men’s heads when he prodded at the idea of turning the movie into a date.

“There is nothing platonic about these assholes’ relationship,” Church replied, shaking his head while Tucker shoved his hands into his jeans with a glum sigh.

“I’ve lost count of how many times they’ve fallen asleep on the couch fucking cuddling and then acting like they weren’t totally thinking about making-out right then and there. So I really doubt another movie will change anything.”

Church glanced over at him and Tucker glared at the humans who were now arguing about Grif having stolen a piece of butter tart despite the fact that they stole food from each other all the time.

“I mean, Imma still go,” Tucker said. “See if this time I can get them to just make out in the backrow like the horny teenagers they are.”

“Good luck with that,” Church snorted, and Tucker flipped him off despite how grim his prospects were.

Both of them fell quiet for a moment, letting the faint sound of traffic and the louder voices of the two cops envelop them while Kimball transferred fresh goods from the backroom to the front display.

“Hey, any way you could get one of these assholes to ask Kimball about Doyle?” Church asked a moment later. Tucker had been looking longingly at the food they couldn’t touch for the moment, contemplating the cost-benefit of starting a food fight since that seemed to have gotten some food within Donut and Lopez’s immediate vicinity. At Church’s question though, he moved his attention back to his assigned humans and did a quick scan of their thoughts.

“No hints of that,” Tucker told him, and Church glared at the two. “He gives them deals for solving that case too, but this place is a lot closer.”

“Fucking ingrates,” Church muttered, and Tucker grinned a little at the reminder of the company he possessed within his misery.

“Things not going well with them yet?” Tucker asked, and Church turned his scowl on Kimball.  

“I’m ready to shove them both off a cliff and save myself all the headaches,” Church said, scowl deepening with each new word. “Every time I get them to like something about the other, they find a way to ruin it a second later. Like yesterday, I managed to get them talking about the Bluejays–”

“A bird?” Tucker interrupted, giving Kimball another once over.

She didn’t exactly fit Tucker’s image of a bird watcher. He would have expected one picture of a bird on the bakery’s bare walls at the very least, but the only decoration within the bakery was a single clichéd painting of a bowl of fruit.

“No, some shitty sports team they both like. But ten minutes later they were yelling at each other about some fucking play during last night’s game.”

Tucker scrunched up his face.

“They’re that into it?”

“I don’t even fucking know, I can barely even keep track of what specific thing pisses them off each time. It’s like Kimball _expects_ him to piss her off now, and Doyle is always ready to get defensive now, so there’s no way to prevent it.”

Church shook his head so hard Tucker winced. “I know their files said ‘trust issues’ but this is just fucking ridiculous.”

“Tell me about it,” Tucker said as he watched Simmons blush and toy with his food while Grif laughed at one of the redhead’s dumb jokes. “Hey, did you at least talk to Wash and get the memory thing figured out?”

The phone in the backroom rung and a scowl inched its way across Kimball’s face as she headed to answer it.

“Shit, that should be Doyle,” Church said, and he hurried to follow the woman. He paused when he reached the door leading to the backroom, glancing over his shoulder to give Tucker a quick answer. “Don’t worry about that, Tucker, I’ve already got it all figured out.”

He disappeared with Kimball without another word, and Tucker stared at the closed door for a moment before turning back to Grif and Simmons. Only two minutes later, Tucker was ready to fly back to the base and leave the infuriating pair for the day.

“Fucking nobody has anything figured out,” he muttered.A soft quiet punctuated by oblivious human laughter was the only reply he received.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, Red team is finally all introduced!
> 
> The Bluejays are Toronto's baseball team, about as frustrating to watch as the Toronto Maple Leafs (hockey). I realized this is the second fic where I've referenced Toronto's sports teams; this is what happens when you grow up in my family. Even if you don't watch them regularly, or live in the same city, you can't exist without knowing about them. 
> 
> Thank you for all your patience waiting for these chapter updates! My school year is coming to a close soon so HOPEFULLY I will have a lot more time to work on this regularly soon. Thank you for all your comments and kudos, they always make my day brighter <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So were you an asshole in real life too or was that just a side effect of becoming a love angel?”

The first time Church returned to Tex’s apartment after meeting her properly, he materialized to find her lounging on her couch. The evening air pressed against the windows lining the wall opposite the entrance, and the tinny noise of an enthusiastic announcer filled the brightly lit rooms. Once more Church stood in the small space separating her bed and the black leather couch placed in front of the hulking TV. The black and white laminate counters of the kitchen were wiped clean though stacks of dirty dishes rested in the sink beside the fridge.

Tex didn’t immediately stir at his entrance and Church took a step closer to the back of the couch. He squinted at the images playing across the screen of the TV and a scowl pulled his lips down seconds later.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said when he recognized a member of the Blue Jays baseball team as his bat connected with the ball with a loud _crack_.

“We have a betting pool at work,” Tex replied, not even turning around at the sound of Church’s voice. Her relaxed shoulders and legs sprawled in front of her didn’t even twitch at his sudden arrival.

_“Why do you bother gambling when you just lose all your money?”_

_“Why do_ you _?”_

“You watch anything else?” Church asked, moving so only inches separated him from the couch. “Wrestling, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Tex said, nothing remotely close to a flicker of defensiveness in her nonchalant tone of voice. “South and I make bets.”

“You _are_ aware that you guys are a walking cliché, right?”

_“Doesn’t it get exhausting being the moody asshole cliché all the time?”_

“If we were, we’d be eating take-out and donuts every day. That’s just Grif.”

“So you’re saying you’re always a perfect health nut,” Church said. The scowl faded with each passing second of their back and forth, all of the frustrating memories of his assignment falling off him like the molting of feathers.

“Of course.” Even after so few interactions, Church could already spot the ghost of a smile hovering over her lips and the bright mirth in the eyes that glanced briefly over her shoulder at him.

“You’re so full of shit,” he told her.

She shifted on the couch, and Church’s heart beat faster at the sight of her loose hair brushing against the skin of her shoulders that her black tank top left bare. When Tex leaned back slightly and tilted her head to look at him, he couldn’t look away.

“I don’t need to be a health nut to give punk ass perps a beat down.”

“Wow, what a wonderful cop,” Church said, and he saw her roll her eyes as she turned around to face the TV again.

_“Wow, you really suck at your job,” she says, but her eyes are the brightest he’s seen all day, and the teasing only makes him kiss her harder._

A moment passed in which neither of them spoke, letting the noise of a far-off place and distant people encase the room in a peaceful lull.

“So,” Tex said when a commercial exploded on screen, “you just gonna hover like a creepy spirit all night, or you actually gonna sit down and watch?”

_“Come on, you know the guys love it when you come and hang out with us.”_

_“And you know I hate it. Let’s just both be gender stereotypes for the night_. _”_

With a grin, Church joined her on the couch.

 

 

A few days later Church appeared in her apartment again after her work shift ended, and found her sitting on her bed surrounded by thread and needles. Millions of stars glittered in the night sky outside and it was the middle of a work week so Church didn’t know why he thought she might be out drinking with her coworkers, but he certainly never imagined this scene in its stead.

“Holy shit,” he said. He moved to stand at the edge of her bed so he could study the white pillow she held in her hand. “You’re fucking _sewing_?”

“Embroidery,” Tex replied without looking up at him.

“Oh my god.” Laughter spilled from Church’s lips as Tex moved a needle in and out of the surface of the pillow. “Oh my god, this is amazing. The mighty badass sews flowers and shit onto pillows. Holy shit, I wish I still owned a phone just so I could take a picture of this.”

“Hey, Church, why don’t you come a little closer to these needles for me?” Tex asked, and finally looked up at him. He gulped a little at the gleam in her eyes and didn’t make any further movements even while laughter continued to bubble in his chest. “Just remember, I know all the places I can stab you and hit an artery. Also everywhere I can hit you and lock your muscles.”

“What?”

“Acupuncture,” Tex said, smirking when Church scrunched up his face in confusion.

“The thing where you stab people to make them feel better?”

“That’s right. And I’m good at it.”

Church crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her.

“I bet you just jab people at random whenever you feel like it,” he said, and her only response was to keep smirking as she turned her attention back down to the pillow she kept adding more brown thread to.

_“How about you go back to your own hobby and stop poking at mine?”_

After watching her work for a few seconds, Church sat down on the edge of her bed by her feet. He carefully avoided sitting on any of the other long needles or thread scattered across the duvet. In the sudden gap between their spoken words he noticed the faint noise of rock music drifting from the speakers set up on the two bedside tables on each side of Tex’s bed.

“So were you so bored one day that the only thing you could do was look this shit up?” Church asked, leaning back on his elbows. Tex’s feet lightly pushed against the edge of his wing that brushed her toes, but otherwise they stayed within their separate bubbles of space.

“Connie taught me,” Tex explained, frowning down at the pillow. “My partner at work. She thought I needed some other tactile thing to do outside work besides work-out, mechanics, and sex.”

“So she picked embroidery?” Church gaped, ignoring the way a painful heat jabbed at the insides of his chest at thought of the last activity and the strangers it involved.

Tex shrugged.

“I think it was South’s–her girlfriend’s–idea of joke and Connie just ran with it.”

“And acupuncture came into it because?”

“I got bored while Connie was trying to teach me and looked it up.”

Church grinned. He wanted to ask what kind of friend this chick was, the only hint he had being the card he saw in the hospital which contained well-wishes and an inside joke. Instead, he simply focused on all the glorious mental images Tex’s words provided.

“Shit, I feel so bad for your coworkers now,” Church said. The corner of Tex’s lips curled up the slightest and the comfort of Tex’s presence kept him content for the rest of the night.

 

 

The third time Church visited, the apartment was shrouded in darkness and silence. Church eventually found Tex in the parking lot of the apartment building with a flashlight and tool box, crouching on the pavement beside her new motorcycle. The only reason Church knew it wasn’t her old one was because Tex had told him, for the one resting in front of him appeared to be the same size, shape, and colour of the old one.

Tex straightened a few seconds after Church arrived, giving the vehicle a satisfied nod before packing away her tools. Like every time before, she didn’t look surprised when Church’s presence became obvious and he wondered what it would take to surprise her at this point.

_“Why exactly did you think the surprise party was a good idea when you know I hate surprises?”_

“So would your wings act like a parachute and slow you down with drag if you rode on this,” Tex began, hands on her hips as she glanced from Church’s wings to the bike, “Or are they intangible in that regard? Cuz I can feel them but I’m assuming that’s because of the whole nearly died shit.”

“Yeah I don’t know and uh, I don’t really want to know.”

A smirk slowly spread across Tex’s face and Church was beginning to think the way that expression only drew him closer and made him want to challenge her was a problem. In part because he knew the only person who would ever win in a challenge against Tex was Tex.

“Aww, is the big bad love angel scared of a little human bike?” she teased, and Church straightened as much as he could, wings spreading out behind him.

“Of course not. But why use that when I have these?” He spread out his wings as far as they could go, receiving only a slight glance from Tex. Her body coiled in preparation, though, and he saw anticipation dancing in her eyes when she met his gaze.

“You think you can go the speed limit on the highway?” she asked, and Church snorted.

“Are you seriously asking if there’s a speed limit on how fast an _angel_ can fly?”

“You say that like you’re some infallible entity, but so far you seem more flawed than every human I know.”

Church glared and then gestured to the bike.

“Ready whenever you are,” he said, any earlier thoughts of refraining from challenging her for his own safety fleeing at the sight of her climbing onto the motorcycle with triumph already lining her face.  

Church followed her through the city streets as she weaved between the night traffic and headed for the city limits. Within the city’s bounds she stayed carefully close to the speed limit while Church glided above and listened to the endless symphony of traffic and human conversation that filled the city.

The second they reached a country road, Tex shot forward. Church grinned at the sudden increase in speed and sped after her. The sound of her bike’s engine surged above the cicadas’ cries, and light spilled from the headlights. The dim twinkling of the stars above and the occasional electric glow from a farmhouse slipped further and further away as Church’s vision narrowed to the speeding bike and the figure hunched over the vehicle. Laughter spilled from his lips as the icy night cut into his skin and he stretched his wings as far as they could go.

_She grins at him, bright eyes and messy hair filling his vision._

“That all you got Tex?” Church shouted down to her. The wind carried his voice away but a second later, she increased her speed. He spent only half a second wondering at the irony of a cop getting caught for speeding before chasing after her.

_His head is still pounding and she’s out of breath from running but when she presses against him in the shadow of the grimy buildings, it’s the safest he’s ever felt in his life._

The landscape around them remained unfamiliar to Church, but Tex never slowed down or gave any indication of being lost. The roads stayed empty, and Church didn’t know if it was because they were lucky or if Tex did this enough to know which ones would lack other people. Their speed and all of the sensations of flying didn’t leave room for idle thoughts though, and Church simply kept pace with the motorcycle.

He switched between gliding above and dropping only a few inches above the ground to fly alongside Tex. She glanced over at him when he did so, face hidden by her helmet, but he could imagine the grin spreading across her hard face before she turned her attention back to the road.

When they finally stopped by the side of the road, Church’s whole body felt numb from the rushing air but he offered Tex a satisfied smirk. She removed her helmet to reveal a flushed face and the smallest of smiles beneath her dancing eyes. She let the helmet dangle from one hand and placed the other on her hip.

“Not bad,” she said, and the warmth curling throughout Church’s chest wrapped around every organ like a million twisting vines. “But you’re a mess now.”

“I thought chicks loved the whole tousled hair look.”

“Not with feathers in it.”

Church’s hands shot to his hair and he scowled when the briefest notes of laughter fell from Tex’s lips. He lowered his hands and glared at her, but still moved to stand at her side when she rested on the seat of her motorcycle.

“So does that mean you were human before?” Tex asked after a few seconds of silence in which she peeled off her gloves. She glanced over at Church while he stared at the dark field around them. “Or were you always an angel and that chick thing just came from your unobservant experiences?”

“Human,” Church replied after giving her a scowl for the last comment. She just offered him a smirk in response. “Love angels, seraphs, some guardian angels–they were all humans before. Pure angels, and some guardian angels, are the only ones that have never been human.”

Tex hummed and Church looked over at her thoughtful expression.

“So were you an asshole in real life too or was that just a side effect of becoming a love angel?”

For a moment he wondered how bad the retaliation would be if he tried to shove her off the bike.

“Love angels don’t remember their life,” Church admitted after a quiet moment, and he saw her gaze hone in on him out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, most don’t. We remember how we died, and I remember that it happened six years ago, but we don’t remember the whole love part or any other part. ”

“That seems like a serious flaw given you’re supposed to be helping with that,” Tex said with a frown. “Shouldn’t the experience be a good thing?”

Church kept his eyes firmly on the ground as the next words dropped from his mouth.

“Well the human souls that are offered the chance to be a love angel are the ones who’s love life was so spectacularly fucked up before they died, that the spirits or whatever watching feel bad for the soul and give that soul a chance to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

Silence met Church words and he forced himself to lift his head despite the heavy atmosphere that had suddenly settled over them. “So hey, probably a good self-preservation method or whatever.”

He tried to ignore the fact that it was all of the whispers of his past that kept drawing him to Tex as she studied him.

_“We’ve been dating for_ months, _why do you still try shutting me out?”_

Tex snorted after another moment and leaned back slightly as she looked up at the stars.

“Good to know the afterlife is just as fucked as the real one,” she said, and Church couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped him.

“Well technically, where we are isn’t the afterlife. Like there is a legit one souls can go to and rest or whatever. They can do that or get reincarnated.”

He looked up at the dark sky. “You’re given those options too, even if you had a fucked up love life.”

“Sounds boring,” Tex replied, and Church nodded.

“Tell me about it,” he said.

They continued to watch the stars as Church thought about all the loud voices that were always filling the canyon and the way the night stretched endlessly around them.

***

Church watched Doyle flutter around his bakery while attempting not to look nervous. He kept going back and forth from the employee-only rooms behind the dark wooden display counter to the front of the bakery where customers could sit. There was only one customer at the moment, a wizened old man that Church was half-certain had actually fallen asleep where he sat by the fireplace.

Church sat in one of the many plushy recliner chairs spread across the room, sinking into the abundance of dark leather cushion. The chairs were crowded around small glass tables covered with too many white doilies for Church’s liking. The oversized chairs, dark walls, gas fireplace, and random bookshelves stuffed into the corners of the rooms made Church feel like he sat in some very rich, very old-fashioned, British man’s library rather than a bakery. Only the sight of the baked goods resting in the display case near the back and the glimpse of the decorated menus by the cash register kept Church from forgetting the nature of his location.

Both of them were waiting for Kimball to arrive, Doyle constantly checking the windows decorated with various flowers every time he came out into the main room. Church propped an elbow on the table and then rested his head in his hand as he waited, idly imagining the disaster that would ensue if Tex ever tried baking something from scratch.

Kimball breezed through the door just as Doyle brought out a fresh batch of tarts for the counter. She drew to a sudden halt a few steps into the room, eyes going wide as she took in every inch of the place. When Doyle spotted her, he nearly dropped the tray of tarts and Church repressed the urge to sink even lower into his seat. Doyle recovered quickly but Kimball remained where she was, shifting her purse from one shoulder to the next.

Once the tarts were away, Doyle hurried to greet Kimball. He maneuvered around the clutter of chairs and tables and plants that Church tripped on every time he visited Doyle’s bakery.

“Ms. Kimball,” Doyle greeted her, and held out his hand like they were respectable business partners, and hadn’t spent the days leading up to this second in-person meeting screaming at each other over the phone and sending each other passive-aggressive emails.

Church climbed to his feet with a stretch of his arms as Kimball took Doyle’s hand and shook it.

“Doyle,” Kimball replied, and Church rolled his eyes at the awkward stiffness encasing both of them. “Your bakery is very…interesting.”

“Interesting?” Doyle repeated, though both of their moods stayed light for the moment, and Church quickly shoved their thoughts on the more polite and kinder path.

“It’s very cluttered,” Kimball said, because as per usual, even Church’s best efforts couldn’t fully keep her from voicing her true opinions when it came to Doyle. “And the colours of everything are a lot darker than I’d imagine you preferring.”

“Darker,” Doyle said, but he sounded puzzled rather than offended. “Why, what’s yours like? Blue walls, I’m assuming, like the pretty colour of your sweater.”

“White, actually,” Kimball replied after a beat of silence, both of them momentarily reeling from the unintentional compliment.

They both stared at each other for a moment, and Church would have felt more pity for their floundering if they hadn’t been making the assignment a living hell.

Doyle cleared his throat after a moment, blush tinging his cheeks even as he spoke in a steady voice.

“Well, shall we begin?”

“Will the counter be okay if we’re both back there?” Kimball asked even as she followed Doyle through the maze of chairs.

“One of my employees will be here soon,” Doyle assured her, and they stepped through the doorway that led to the kitchen.

The kitchen was a haven of order and utilitarianism in comparison to the front room. The stainless steel counters gleamed in the bright light, not a speck of dirt on the oven tops or the larger refrigerator. There was room enough between the counters and tables for Church to actually spread his wings, careful not the brush against the pans and whisks and other utensils hanging from the racks along the walls.

Yet the place was smaller than Kimball’s, and some of the cupboards appeared to be made out of wood, as if attempting to maintain a more traditional décor even amidst the new, industrial appearance. There was a large glass window sitting on top of the left wall, and various plants were shoved onto the windowsill. When Church took a closer look, he found them to be fake, but the added personal touch remained.  

Kimball placed her large purse on the floor and stepped up to the table across from Doyle. There were a few ingredients already out near mixing bowls and whisks. They two had already met their client for the first time and were still working on creating the proposal for him, including the drinks and baked goods that would be on the menu. While the client provided them with the basic information about the small but corporate retirement party, they hadn’t given them much in way of the food they wanted. The client had simply beamed at the two of them and told the two bakers he wanted a variety of their best. Any questions to get more specific information were met with vague answers though at least they were able to get out that the woman retiring liked chocolate and rich baked goods.

Kimball and Doyle had finally agreed, after much arguing about what should be on the menu, that doing a few baking sessions together to try each other’s proposed items would help them create a proposal they were both satisfied with. The customer liked both of their goods so Church could only assume they were all delicious and hopefully the mutual skill would inspire some of the respect and affection he needed to outweigh the irritation and mistrust.

They had argued for hours about what to make as a test-run, and they would no doubt take another week or two to decide on the full menu, not to mention the décor of the ballroom being rented. Doyle leaned more toward traditional but decorated items, balking at Kimball’s suggestions of unique flavour combinations. Both of them seemed to forget in the heat of the arguments that both of their businesses were fairly successful which meant _both_ of their tactics could be utilized successfully.

They had finally decided to start with chocolate truffles and then move on to cupcakes, though Kimball would be making hers with avocado and Doyle with a caramel centre. After a little bit of grumbling about the decision which Church hastily cut off as soon as he could, the two got to work on the actual baking, Kimball pulling out her own plain blue apron from her bag with a raised eyebrow at Doyle’s stained and colourfully decorated one.

Despite all their shouting matches and snide remarks about the other’s methods, they worked in the same space as if they had been doing so for years. There was no accidental bumping into the other, no misplaced items, no knocking into the others’ materials; they moved around each other with an ease that made Church feel as if he had imagined all of their fighting. Lost in their work, the occasional muttered request for an ingredient or equipment and the easy fulfilment of such request spoke of long nights of happy conversations and mutual respect rather than the endless yelling that gave Church a headache.

For the most part, all Church needed to do was lean against the wall and watch. For once their thoughts rarely dipped into anything darker about the other, any irritation easily swept away with the slightest of brushes from Church.

Doyle was shaking the caramel when Church heard the thought. The man happened to look up at Kimball as she leaned over the cream she was whisking with the barest hints of the frown. With all of his attention straining to sense any of the two’s feelings or thoughts toward each other, the single word echoed as loud as a scream in Church’s mind.

_Beautiful._

Church grabbed the thought so hard his entire body stiffened, eyes widening in disbelieving triumph. The thought wanted to slip away, be shoved beneath Doyle’s attention for the baking, but Church wouldn’t let it. He pinned the thought to the forefront of Doyle’s mind despite his unease, and then coaxed the singular word to spread into a network of connected observations, like sturdy roots sprawling endlessly beneath the ground.

Lock upon lock of soft black hair piled on top of her head and covered with a hairnet to keep anything from disturbing her work. Firm hands whisking effortlessly, dark skin covered in spots of cream. Mask of concentration on her round face, all attention diverted to the task at hand. Tall frame leaning over the table’s surface. Sunlight passed through the window and pooled around her, as if as helplessly attracted to her as Doyle.

Of course, only a minute later, Kimball looked up and scowled at Doyle.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, glancing down at the caramel in the bowl Doyle held. “You need to shake it, not stir!”

“I know that,” Doyle snapped back, neither he nor Church having noticed the change in Doyle’s actions in their engrossment with Kimball’s beauty. “I am far from a rookie baker.”

“And yet you keep proving yourself one,” Kimball shot back before Church could get a firm grip on her thoughts.

Any positive feelings toward Kimball vanished the second the last syllable left Kimball’s lips and Church resisted the urge to start swearing at the top of his lungs when Doyle drew himself up as straight as possible.

“Why don’t you focus on your own skills, and I’ll focus on mine,” he said stiffly with a glare.

The two stared each other down for another few seconds before returning their attention to their own work. Church tried finding the source of Kimball’s sudden irritation, but all he got was a mistrustful thought about why Doyle had been staring before thoughts about her baking consumed her mind.

There were no softer emotions or distractions for the rest of the baking session, despite Church staying open to any possibilities.

Of course, when the time came for them to try the first of each other’s results, they both had to admit it tasted good. Church had to drag the confessions from their lips and they both acted like sullen children when the compliment did leave their mouths. Church would have laughed at the existential crisis this seemed to cause them both if it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to get them to love each other, and they didn’t even seem to _like_ each other.

Though at the very least, Church thought as he watched them part at the end of the day, they couldn’t completely repress their basic physical attraction to the other.

He had completed assignments with even less than that before.

***

Church kept going back to Tex’s apartment. Always during the evening, usually during the week, and never staying overnight. He got lucky most days, popping in when Tex moved about her private space rather than join her colleagues for a night out, or head to the bar for one night stands. There were never any human guys in her apartment when Church arrived, nor any trace of attachment to one, but Tex told him herself about the existence of her sexual dalliances. He didn’t know if she always went home with them because she didn’t want them at her house or if it was because she didn’t want Church flying in during it, but Church didn’t ask.

They never said hello and they never said goodbye. Instead, Church jumped right into commenting on whatever it was he caught Tex in the middle of. Sometimes she perched on the bed or couch, needle poised in her hand while the stereo or TV provided white noise. Sometimes she leaned toward the TV with a beer bottle by her feet and her fingers mashing the buttons of the controller in her calloused hands.

Other times her hands were covered in grease or dirt and she sat cross-legged on the floor with a million mechanical pieces spread around her as she hummed and worked on some old piece of junk.

Other times she stood in the kitchen, the work jacket gone and a tank top in its stead. Sometimes the holster would still encircle her waist while steam curled up from the surface of the stove and she frowned at the food despite her insistences that she liked cooking.

Only a couple times now had Church materialized while Tex was in the middle of a work-out. She owned her own sets of dumbbells and other weights she shoved into one corner of her apartment most days. The sight of her clothes sticking to her sweaty body and the strands of hair falling into her flushed face killed any of the cocky words Church had prepared. He was left staring for a few seconds before he shook himself, the dim sound of Tucker’s laughter and the voice of someone he still couldn’t name echoing in his brain. For her part, Tex never commented on the lack of quick response in those moments, though she did offer him a slight smirk.

The past drew Church to the apartment, but increasingly it was the present that made him stay. Memories of whomever he loved before he died continued to be triggered by Tex’s presence as Church slowly pieced them into a coherent picture.

He knew the ghostly voice by heart now, knew they had met in university, knew something of her hobbies and the trips they took together. He knew the exact shade of her dark brown eyes and curly dark hair. He knew so much and yet not enough to make any of it tangible.

And he knew that whoever the mystery woman had been, Tex was not her exact reincarnation nor was she his old lover. Church had died less than ten years ago in a different city that Tex had never even visited. The women weren’t alike in physical appearance and voice, the slightest of differences in their habits and manner of speech as well. Yet their souls were similar enough that every time Church looked at Tex, her soul resonated with the memories of a lover who still wandered in the world with all of the memories of their time together that Church only caught glimpses of.

But it was _Tex’s_ smirk that kept words pouring from Church’s lips when he arrived. It was her quick retorts that drew him closer like a fish caught at the end of a fishing rod. Her effortless contortion of limb and confident movements that he watched. Her cooking he laughed at, her gameplay he swore at, and her rare smile his heart pounded at. The past hung in the air of her apartment, giving everything a double-layer of paralleled time, but the more Church grew to know Tex, the more she stood firmly in the present with her own blinding outline standing in the stark contrast against the backdrop of the past.

In turn, every time Church went to the apartment there was something new he gained permission to touch, proving the tangible fixture he possessed within the present. First the couch, then the bed, then the game controllers Tex tossed to him, followed by the pillows, the kitchenware, and the food. The gym equipment and her tools were still firmly protected by whatever forces separated angels from mortals, but Church would probably just break his own foot trying to use them.

A month after first meeting Tex, Church materialized in the middle of Tex’s apartment as he normally did. His bare feet landed lightly on the hardwood floor in the space separating bed from couch. His wings instinctively stretched in the spacious spot as his gaze landed on Tex’s back where she stood at the kitchen island.

It took Church a moment to realize the only light in the apartment came from the kitchen, the rest of the apartment shrouded in darkness. No food or pots rested on the kitchen counters despite the nearness to the time Tex normally ate dinner. When Church took a step closer to Tex, he spotted a large whiskey bottle and shot glass resting by Tex’s hands where they curled around the edge of the island. The bottle was half-empty, but Church had no idea how full the bottle had been to start.

“You know it’s only Wednesday, right?” Church said into the quiet. Tex turned slightly at the sound of his voice, blonde hair falling over her shoulder. He could only make out the profile of her face and he shifted as the heavy silence rung in his ears.

Tex turned back around, one hand reaching up to pour another shot of alcohol. Her hands stayed steady, but her skin was paler than normal. While she took the shot, Church glanced around the apartment. Her work jacket and holster were shoved in the corner by the front door as if she’d torn off the items and thrown them away the second she walked through the door. Her faded jeans melded with the dusky darkness creeping through the window, her white tank top a beacon within the room.

“Connie was shot,” Tex said after another few seconds, and Church’s gaze shot back up to her face.

“Your work partner, Connie?” Church asked, even though Tex had never mentioned any other Connie before. “Shit, is she okay?”

Tex finally turned to face him, movements lethargic in a way Church had never seen before. Every part of her seemed paler than usual, the twin spots of red staining her cheeks the only splash of colour on her.   

“She’s in the hospital,” Tex told him, leaning back hard on the counter. The shot glass dangled loosely from her long fingers. “Was in critical condition but stable when I left.”

“Shit,” Church repeated. The only other cops he knew by face were Grif and Simmons, but he enjoyed hearing about all of them from Tex, enjoyed the way their names triggered eye rolls and painted faint smiles on Tex’s face. “Well that’s good she’s stable, right?”

Tex didn’t say anything for a long moment and Church glanced again at the bottle of whiskey.

“She was shot in the back,” Tex said, staring at the empty shot glass in her hand while she spoke. A dullness Church had never heard from her before coated every syllable. “Drug bust. Usually they try and bail the second they see us, not fight back. And the place was supposed to be pretty empty during the day. We didn’t have any hints that there was anything out of the ordinary.”     

She shifted, back grinding so hard against the edge of the island, Church winced. “I wasn’t watching her and next thing I know she’s bleeding on the ground and I’m shooting some high school punk full of bullets.”   

Church kept staring and a question about her feelings of self-guilt stuck in his throat.

_“It’s like you’re allergic to the fucking word ‘blame’.”_

“I thought South was actually going to rip my throat out in the middle of the hospital,” Tex added, a twisted version of a smile touching her lips.

She looked at him and Church realized that though her voice sounded devoid of life, her eyes were filled with all of the ferocity of a supernova.

“Healthy choice of coping,” Church croaked out, and Tex just tilted her head slightly while regarding him.

_“Guess even a shred of sensitivity is too much for you, huh, jackass.”_

A single second stretched between them.

“You know, there are other ways of forgetting,” Tex said, and unpeeled herself from the counter with sudden fluidness.

Church took a step back as she stalked toward him, shot glass slamming onto the island beside the bottle of whiskey. All of Tex’s attention honed in on him, those bright eyes as blinding as they were alluring. Without conscious thought, Church kept moving back and Tex kept moving forward. His back bumped against the far wall, wings spreading out along its surface as Tex stepped into his personal space.

For a single second, Church got the chance to take in the sight of Tex’s face hovering in front of his, wide eyes swimming in an unforgettable face.

_“That was without a doubt the worst compliment I’ve ever–”_

Tex’s lips pressed against his and every part of Church zeroed in on the contact. There was nothing chaste or quick about the kiss, the pressure as insistent and impossible to ignore as Tex herself. From one second to the next she deepened the kiss, Church opening his mouth and mirroring her actions without taking any time to consider his actions. One of her hands slipped beneath his shirt and the other pressed against his wing.

His hands curled around her waist, pulling her body impossibly closer to his own. The heat of her body burned away all thoughts, past and present, another person’s and his own. The hand resting against his wing curled tightly around the feathers, and the slightly painful sensation only made Church kiss her harder.

When Tex pulled away from him a moment later, Church felt dizzy as he stared at Tex’s flushed face. She stayed within the circle of his arms, hand beneath his shirt now brushing against the belt of his jeans and her chest pressed against his.

“Will this make you fall?” Tex asked, fingers tapping against the buckle of his belt while her other hand firmly clutched his wing. Church tried to take a breath in the momentary pause, but the air only got caught in his throat as he met her gaze.

“Who fucking knows,” Church replied, and then closed the distance between them to continue the kiss.

***

“Having some difficulty there?”

Tucker’s head shot up from where he’d been pressing his forehead to the cool surface of the kitchen counter with his eyes squeezed shut. Standing by his shoulder with tired eyes but an amused smile was Wash.

“Just the same old same old,” Tucker finally said when his heart calmed down a little after the sudden sight of the other love angel. He pushed his dreads out of his face and swivelled slightly in the stool so his body angled toward Wash’s. “Just the same two idiots refusing to do anything about their massive crush.”

“Maybe it’s time to call in the cavalry,” Wash suggested, gaze going to where Church and Caboose argued over a game of Jenga. Church had only just arrived back at base a few moments ago, distracted look on his face even as Caboose dragged him into the game.

“Only if I want one of them in the hospital,” Tucker snorted, gaze taking in the scattered wooden pieces surrounding the pair and the exasperated scowl on Church’s face. “Which, already happened earlier, and did absolutely nothing to get the two to confess.”

Wash shot him a sympathetic look at that and Tucker studied his face. There were little lines creasing out from Wash’s eyes, exhaustion painted beneath them. His freckles stood out starkly against the paleness of his skin, body no doubt suffering from a lack of sleep and food. For he had spent too much time in the mortal realm again, letting himself get drained without returning to the afterlife to recharge before the assignment was complete.

But when he looked over at Tucker again and bumped their shoulders together, some of Tucker’s concern faded. For the moment, surrounded by the secure rock walls of the canyon and the loud voices of all the other angels in it, Wash could offer them all a genuine smile.

“But I’m guessing you finished yours with perfect marks,” Tucker said, shoving away the miserable thoughts about his own assignment that had driven him to banging his head against the kitchen counter. “You were gone for long enough.”

“I’m hearing just the faintest sounds of disapproval,” Wash commented drily, and Tucker’s chest squeezed when their gazes met.

“You look drained as fuck again,” Tucker told him, struggling to keep his frustration from seeping into his voice. He leaned back against the counter, elbows resting lightly on the counter, even though the thought of all the ways Wash still disregarded his own health made him want to yell.

Instead of growing defensive like Tucker expected, Wash’s features softened.

“I’m fine, Tucker,” Wash said gently, voice lowered as if they were the only two around for miles. “And no, I didn’t finish the assignment. There’s just one final touch, but I couldn’t miss the inter-base sleepover now could I?”

“Not unless you wanted Caboose crying all over you and Sarge lecturing you for months,” Tucker teased, studiously avoiding mentioning the sentimental reason he wanted Wash there, not knowing if Wash was even aware of it.  

For the Reds and Blues held a canyon wide sleep-over at least once a month at Caboose and Donut’s requests, and it was at one of them three years and six months ago, that Wash reached a tentative truce with Tucker and Church. Not in any such formalized, spoken words, and not in a way that Tucker realized in that moment meant things would change. But it had been the first social team event Wash attended after arriving in their canyon and the first time Tucker saw Wash have fun. That night was the first time Tucker saw Wash smile and try to joke with the others, the first time Tucker realized there might be someone worth knowing underneath the steel layer of dismissive sarcasm and cold professionalism.

A shout sounded from the entrance of the base, startling both Tucker and Wash from their conversation. They turned in unison to see the Reds entering the common room, Caboose bounding to his feet to go greet them. Wash offered Tucker one last smile before he climbed to his feet and headed over to speak with the Sarge. The oldest love angel scowled around the base with his arms crossed over his chest, despite the many times he had been inside Blue base and his insistence that the sleepovers take place there.

“You two finally exchange declarations of love?” Church asked when he flung himself into the empty stool left by Wash.

“Shut up,” Tucker said instinctively, dragging his gaze away from Wash to offer his smug friend a glare. “How’s _your_ love life going?”

“Oh ha ha,” Church replied sarcastically, though he shifted in his seat and glanced briefly away from Tucker.

“Hey, guys!” The cheerful sound of Donut’s voice interrupted them both before Tucker could ask about Church’s suspicious behaviour.

They turned to the Red where he approached them from the entrance, neon pink t-shirt impossible to miss. He wore booty shorts that day, but Tucker found his gaze drawn to the scar cracking across the right side of the seraph’s face just like every other time he saw the seraph. Tucker didn’t know which was harder for him to swallow, that Donut had been in the army during World War Two, or that the grenade which left the scar on Donut’s face wasn’t the thing that killed him.

“Hey, Donut,” they greeted him, the seraph bouncing to a stop in front of them with a grin.

“A little birdie told me you got your memories back, Church,” Donut said with a genuine smile at the love angel. “Congratulations!”

“Who–” The anger on Church’s face melted into annoyed resignation in an instant as he closed his eyes. “Caboose.”

“I know it’s probably hard right now, but Sarge always says it’s important to know what you like!”

“That’s doesn’t–never mind,” Church said, shaking his head. “And they’re not _all_ back, you know.”

“So what, it’s a gradual thing?” Tucker asked with a frown. He shot Wash a glance, but he was deep in conversation with Sarge and Caboose at the moment. Probably, the love angel wouldn’t even care if they were discussing memories, but he was still so prickly about the subject that Tucker felt a sliver of guilt for talking about it near him.

“Yeah,” Church said slowly. “It’s not like this instantaneous thing where you just remember everything perfectly all at once. It’s fragments and confusing as fuck and it comes in spurts. Like squeezing a tube of toothpaste repeatedly.”

“Not the type of squirting I thought you were gonna go with. Bow chicka bow wow.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Tucker just laughed, Donut seeming just as amused by the conversation as Tucker. The sound of laughter drew Wash’s attention and Tucker grinned across the distance at him.

“He’s giving us that look again,” Church said, mouth twisting from his sour tone.

“What look?”

“The we’re-a-weirdass-family-he’s-finally-found-and-would-go-all-self-sacrificing-hero-for look.”

“Don’t worry, Church. We’ll leave you and your bitterness alone.”

Church scowled at that and shoved at Tucker’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Church,” Donut piped up, “Alone time can be a great destressor.”

Church winced and Tucker laughed even harder. That earned another shove to his shoulder, Tucker nearly tumbling right off the stool as he tried to control himself. Donut just smiled at them, and Tucker wondered for the hundredth time if the seraph really was oblivious to his way of speaking, or if he knew exactly what he was saying and liked fucking with them.

“Do _you_ remember anything, Donut?” Tucker asked once he calmed down.

Seraphs were different from love angels in that their past love life held no bearing on whether or not they became one. Instead a tragic death that led not to anger or bitterness, but a sadness that did nothing to temper the soul’s overwhelming desire to help those mortals they would be leaving behind was required. As far as Tucker understood them, though, they rarely remembered anything beyond their death just like the love angels they helped.

“Nope,” Donut said, the negative answer doing nothing to dampen his cheerful tone. “But Sarge says seraphs usually remember eventually if they stay one for a long time, just like love angels. Besides, like I always say, better to take it slow and steady!”  

“You ready to get your keisters sent into the next century, Blues?” Sarge asked as he strolled over, the usual manic gleam in his eyes intensifying at the thought of action. Wash walked beside him but moved to stand beside the two Blues, Caboose hurrying to Church’s side. Lopez remained stubbornly by the entranceway.

“Ha, I hope you’re ready to accept defeat _again_ , Sarge,” Church shot back, straightening a little in his chair at the challenge.

_“You perdedores siempre TIE.”_ ( _You losers always tie._ ) 

“I agree with, Lopez,” Donut said. “Let’s get out and there and get some action!”

Continuing to engage in a back and forth of insults, the Reds and Blues made their way outside of the base where the sun was slowly sinking to the ground. On the grass at the foot of the base lay the paintball guns the teams gathered for that night’s events. Tucker grabbed the one shaped like a sword, no one else having tried to claim that one for years. Sarge all but cackled when he picked up his heavy one that reminded Tucker of a shotgun, and even Wash seemed affected by the excited atmosphere.

“Flags are in place, Sarge,” Donut told the older love angel, and Tucker glanced over at the roof of Red base where a red flag fluttered in the light breeze. He didn’t need to turn around to know theirs would already be on top of the roof where Church had placed it earlier.

“Positions, men!” Sarge hollered, and all of the Reds shot into the air. They flew back to their base as was the tradition for beginning the game.

“Full team then, I guess,” Wash said, Caboose bouncing on the balls of his feet beside Tucker with a grin. “Church and Caboose on guard, Tucker and I will take offense.”

Church rolled his eyes, but flew up with Caboose to the roof of the base. Technically both teams were supposed to leave a five foot circumference of safe space between them and the flag where the enemy team could rest before flying off.

“Ready, Tucker?” Wash asked, and Tucker grinned at him.

“Let the ass kicking begin,” he replied, and then the two leapt up into the air in unison.

They flew in opposite directions, hoping circling around Red base in opposite directions would help. Tucker could just make out Sarge speaking to his two men, half of the team eager and the other half looking bored as always.

Tucker glanced over and saw Wash making a slow flight for the base. When Wash had joined the team, they offered to have one person sit out in the team games to make it fair for Red team. But Sarge always scoffed at the idea, insisting they could beat Blue team anytime, even outnumbered. To be fair, the paint grenades Donut always equipped himself with were more than capable of taking out two people at a time, especially with Donut’s arm.

Tucker saw Donut and Sarge take off, making a beeline directly for Blue base. Tucker rolled onto his side to aim his gun, firing midair at the Reds. On the other side, Wash did the same, paint bullets soaring through the dusk air. Sarge hollered and grabbed at Donut, both of them dropped down in seconds. The paint bullets sailed over their heads as they skimmed along the ground.

“Leave them for the others,” Wash called to Tucker when Tucker aimed at their backs. Tucker nodded to Wash, even though they both knew Church couldn’t aim for shit. At least Caboose had a chance of getting one of the Reds before they got the flag.

“Wanna do a weave?” Tucker shouted to Wash as Lopez came into sight, brown wings spread wide behind him and a gun aimed steadily at the sky.

Rather than answer verbally, Wash suddenly changed direction and veered toward Tucker. Adrenaline spiked through him, and then Tucker did the same. Less than ten feet from Red base, they came at it by moving back and forth at a diagonal in the space in front of the pace. Each time Wash and Tucker passed each other, they moved so close that their wings brushed the other’s.

Lopez began firing, both of them picking up their speed and continuing to weave in and out of each other. The paint balls shot past their bodies, Lopez only able to aim at one rapidly moving target per shot.

Tucker heard a shout of triumph just as one of Lopez’s shots collided with his foot. Paint exploded against the bare skin and Tucker bit back a curse as he skidded through the air. He dropped a little and twisted to look in the direction of Blue base. Careening through the air as fast as they could were Sarge and Donut, the blue flag clutched in Sarge’s hand.

“Wash,” Tucker yelled to his other teammate just as the love angel twisted away from another of Lopez’s bullet. Wash only spared the oncoming Reds a single glance before shouting his orders.

“Keep going, I’ll take care of them!”

Wash headed toward the two Reds without another word, Lopez’s bullets zooming by him. Now beneath Lopez’s line of sight from where he stood on top of the base, Tucker ducked around the building’s walls along the grass. He paused briefly at the back, looking up toward the roof and taking a single second to hope Lopez was standing at that edge waiting for him. Then with a whoop, Tucker shot back into the air with his gun at the ready.

Lopez turned at the noise, gun coming up in his hands, but Tucker was already firing his gun one second after the other. Blue paint splashed across the base roof and smashed into Lopez’s body. One to the chest, one to the right wing, and another hit his stomach. The other love angel was thoroughly “dead.”

Tucker grinned as he touched down on top of Red base, Lopez going down on one knee to signal he was dead for the required five minutes as he cursed Tucker.

“Thanks, Lopez,” Tucker said as his hand curled around the pole of the Red flag.

With a cocky grin, he flung himself into the air and out into the open space between Red and Blue base. He could see Donut, Sarge, and Wash darting around each other while firing their guns, and Tucker got within hearing range just as Wash unloaded four paintballs right into Sarge’s body.

The love angel went down with a shout of, “I’m hit!”

He tossed the blue flag to Donut and Tucker skidded to a halt mid-air as Wash took aim at Donut.

A pained cry split the air of the canon as a paint bullet slammed into Donut’s face. He plummeted to the ground as paint engulfed his face and Wash swore. Flag completely forgotten, Wash dove to Donut’s side on the ground with worried questions, Tucker hovering above. Face shots were a strict no-go, and Tucker watched Wash lay a hand on Donut’s shoulder while speaking quickly to the crouched seraph.

A second passed, and then the seraph tilted his head up to where Tucker hovered. One eye cracked open despite the paint and a grin split across his face at the sight of Tucker. Tucker spent exactly two seconds confused, and then horrified realization twisted his stomach.

“Fuck you, Donut,” Tucker shouted, looking up just in time to see the paint grenades Donut must have tossed as high as he could when Wash took a shot at him falling right toward Tucker’s forehead.

Paint exploded everywhere and Tucker shrieked as the substance hit his head. He squeezed his eyes shut against the blast, spiralling down toward the ground as the flag dropped from his hand. He could hear Wash swearing, and when Tucker finally wiped away enough of the paint to open his eyes, he saw Wash standing a few feet away with paint dripping all over his body.

“Six points, you dirty whores,” Donut exclaimed happily despite the paint now covering his entire face and tangled in the tips of his blond hair.

“Well done, Donut!” Sarge said from where he slowly rose to his feet. “Excellent manipulation!”

“Are you two okay?” Wash asked, glancing back and forth between Donut and Tucker, guilty concerning creasing his face.

“Don’t worry, Wash,” Donut said, climbing to his feet with only a couple of wobbles. “No permanent damage here!”

“My ears are gonna be ringing for a while,” Tucker said, but he too got to his feet. He glanced at the blue flag lying by his feet and then at the red flag discarded by the now “dead” Reds and Wash. “Sooo, reset?”

“Prepare yourself, Blues!” Sarge said, red wings turned crimson in the dying light as he grinned gleefully at all of them.

And so the night continued in a similar manner, each game of capture the flag ending more and more ridiculous. When they were all drenched in paint and Tucker was pretty sure Church had lost his voice with all the high-pitched yelling, Donut suggested they move onto tag which Caboose happily seconded.  Everyone had only a single second to prepare before Caboose launched himself at Tucker, shouting that Tucker was It when his hand touched Tucker’s shoulder, and then dashing away as fast as he could.

Tucker rolled his eyes, but chased after the others as they scattered across the canyon. They dove and rolled and weaved through the air as the sun sank below the horizon, their laughter and swearing the soundtrack of that night. There was some unequal playing just like usual; Sarge always went after a Blue, Church and Tucker took special glee in catching the other, and Wash reacted to the challenge in Tucker’s words and eyes every time. By the time they were ready to call the game to an end, they were all covered in sweat, paint, and some dirt from when another player tackled them to the ground.

They all walked into Blue base together, arguing about the game and who won. Tucker flung himself into a stool as the others crowded in the kitchen to argue. He glanced over his shoulder at Wash where the other love angel stood just on the fringes, small smile tugging at his lips while he watched the others.

“Can someone just get started on dinner?” Church snapped after a while. “I’m fucking starving.”

Tucker’s stomach rumbled in response, and he offered Donut a smile when the seraph moved to the kitchen. The two were undeniably the best cooks of the Red and Blue teams, and took turns cooking dinner for the joint sleep-overs.

“I’m going to make a quick visit while it’s cooking,” Wash announced. Church, Lopez, and Sarge just nodded and waved away the words, but Caboose, Tucker, and Donut all turned to Wash with curious gazes.

“But then we will not have a full party!” Caboose protested, and Wash gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m coming back, Caboose, don’t worry. I just promised York I’d go talk to him about an assignment before tomorrow.”

“I’ll come with,” Tucker said without thinking, hopping off the stool and moving to stand by Wash’s surprised side. “Don’t worry, Caboose, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get lost.”

Wash rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest when Tucker fell into step beside him as they made their way out of Blue base. Once they were outside, they leapt into the air in unison, and then flew to toward the canyon walls. The gap that led to the other love angel bases rested in the wall opposite of the exit Tucker and Wash used to reach their grove of trees.

They drifted through the gap and then shot out into wide open air above a never-ending expanse of meadows and grasslands. Tucker thought he spotted the tips of animals’ ears tilting toward them as they flew just above through the cool night air. In the distance and to his right, Tucker could see the dim lights of the Reaper base that rested between the canyon of the Blues and Reds, and the love angel base of the province Wash originally came from. There was one Reaper base for every two love angel headquarters, though the two entities very rarely interacted. Tucker had never even been inside the Reaper quarters, only caught glimpses of the outside which looked like an old Victorian mansion right out of a clichéd gothic movie.

Something told him the inside was very different from the expectations the outside appearance projected.

“Hey,” Tucker said, turning his head away from the Reaper base and looking to Wash instead. “Has Church talked to you about his memories yet?”

Wash started at that, glancing over at Tucker while their spread wings pushed them through the air.

“What?”

“He told me he’s getting his memories back,” Tucker said, not even a flicker of surprise at the realization that Church hadn’t mentioned that fact to Wash. “Y’know, of his love life and all that. I told him he should talk to you about it.”

“Oh,” Wash replied, and there were an uncountable number of warring emotions contained in that single syllable. Tucker waited, but Wash said nothing more, just stared blankly ahead at the night while they continued to fly.

“Not emotional shit or whatever,” Tucker added, and he brushed the edge of his wing against Wash’s. The contact drew Wash’s gaze back to him, still looking a little bit distant, but more focused than a second ago. “Just how it works.”

“Right,” Wash said slowly. “That’s–yeah, that’s good to know.” He went quiet again, but this time broke the silence a moment later. “But I think it’s different for everyone.”

“Really?” Tucker tried not to perk up too much at the new information and lack of shutting down that usually accompanied someone asking Wash about love angels and memories.

Wash jerked his head in a nod. “Church said he’s getting his in bits but that’s not–”

“Not how it worked for me, no,” Wash cut him off in a rough tone. “I was unlucky enough to remember everything all at once.”

Tucker winced at both the words themselves and the painful remembrance in Wash’s voice.

“It was–confusing, to say the least,” Wash continued after a moment. The flat land continued to blur by beneath them, no other entities in sight and the stars their only light. “I lashed out a lot without meaning to.”

“You mentioned that before,” Tucker said quietly, remembering the first time York and North showed up at Blue base wanting to speak with Wash after the love angel first moved into Blue base.

He remembered the shock that encased Wash’s body and concern that lined North and York’s faces. He remembered watching from the kitchen as Wash led York and North to his room to talk, shoulders hunched like he was showing his own execution squad where best to kill him. He remembered the three of them coming out again with smiles on their faces, and Wash quietly telling Tucker after the other two had left that he thought they hated him because of how he lashed out when overwhelmed by his memories.

“Yeah. It’s pretty–”

“Fucked up?” Tucker suggested, and Wash laughed a little at that.

“Just a little bit,” Wash agreed. “But hopefully Church’s memories will keep coming slowly.”

They fell quiet again, gliding through the night air with the tips of their wings occasionally brushing each other. Tucker kept glancing back at Wash, trying to gauge his willingness to continue on the same thread of conversation. He so rarely discussed even the mechanics of remembering one’s love life despite how much it affected him, that curiosity burned every nerve ending of Tucker’s.

“Is there supposed to be a specific trigger for it all?” Tucker asked after determining Wash didn’t look too anxious or tired. He tilted his head toward Tucker, expression going thoughtful rather than pained. “Church didn’t mention one.”

“I’d think it be different for everyone,” Wash said. “I mean, older love angels just start remembering and I don’t know if it’s a specific age that triggers it or some event. But for the rest of us–I don’t know. Probably it has to be something similar to a part of your past life but it doesn’t have to be something big. It could be the smallest thing, something you’d never even expect to act as a trigger.”

Wash didn’t elaborate on what triggered his, and Tucker didn’t push. He just nodded and mulled over Wash’s words when Wash fell quiet once more.

A few minutes later, Wash’s old base came into view. It seemed to spring into existence within seconds, a dark shadow twisting up toward the sky in the middle of impossibly flat land. There weren’t very many angels residing there, nor were more than two floors necessary, but the rock tower seemed determined to join the stars in their resting place.

They both landed lightly in a patch of blue and purple flowers that grew right beside the door of the base. Wash strolled right into the building with Tucker on his heels. A long, brightly lit hallway extended in front of them, and Tucker followed Wash’s lead as he headed down the twisting length and different turns with familiarity. They eventually stopped in the doorway of what Tucker assumed to be the base’s common room.

There were a lot more computers than back at Blue base, gleaming screens resting on a long desk stretching against one wall. Bean bags, couches, and reclining chairs all squatted around a large coffee table in the middle of the room, the blank, cream coloured walls a stark contrast to the nonsensical paintings that Tucker was used to seeing. The room possessed one other small doorway, possibly leading to a kitchen.

A love angel with wings the colour of caramel glanced up from one of the couches upon their entrance. He climbed to his feet as they moved further into the room, knees knocking into the coffee table where a half-finished boardgame lay.  

“Wash, Tucker, hey,” the love angel greeted them with a smile, all three of them coming to a stop by the collection of chairs.

“Hey, York,” Wash replied, giving his old friend a smile. “Where’d North get to?”

“Ah.” York’s smile faded at that and unease slipped into the atmosphere without warning. “Down below. Connie got shot.”

“Shit,” Wash breathed, and Tucker blinked at the familiar name.

“Wait, cop Connie? North’s twin’s girlfriend, Connie?”

“That’s the one,” York said grimly, and Tucker swallowed hard. He had seen North a couple times at the station in the past couple months, the seraph stopping by to check in on his still living twin’s girlfriend everyone once and awhile. Tucker liked the woman, who seemed intelligent enough to talk circles around most of the other cops at the station but still contributed to their work outings and pranks with genuine enthusiasm and sly ideas.

Plus, she seemed as done with Grif and Simmons’ shit as Tucker was.

“Is she okay?” Tucker asked, glancing between York’s unhappy twist of lips and the creases of concern in Wash’s face.

“She was still breathing last I heard from him,” York said. “They got her to the hospital and through surgery alright.”

“She’ll be okay!”

All three of them turned at the sound of the eager child’s voice. A boy no older than ten stood in the doorway, mass of blond curls flopping into his heart-shaped face. He hurried into the room, rainbow-coloured backpack thumping against his thin back with each step. The purple lights that flashed from his untied sneakers with each bounce matched the colour of the baggy t-shirt that fell to his knees and left only a glimpse of his black cargo shorts in view.

“Hey, Theta,” Tucker greeted the Reaper who had led Tucker and North’s souls to the afterlife. Theta gave Tucker a beatific grin which, coupled with the blond curls and innocent look in his eyes, made Tucker think if anyone fit the angelic stereotype, it was this small Reaper.

“Hi, Tucker!” His small hands curled around the blue straps of his backpack and he turned his attention to York. “North asked me to look at the lists for Connie’s name. But nobody’s been assigned to her soul.”

“So she’ll be okay?” Wash asked, and Theta bobbed his head up and down.

“She should be fine. I’ll keep watching, just in case!”

Tucker didn’t know what any of them would be able to do if Connie’s name _did_ show up on the list of souls to be reaped, but both York and Wash relaxed at Theta’s words.

“Thanks, Theta,” York told him. “North is still down on earth, but I’ll let him know what you said.”

“I was going to go tell him,” Theta said, “But then I thought maybe that would scare him. If I showed up in Connie’s room.”

Sadness dragged at the boy’s voice, but nobody could disagree with his statement. Theta might look like a child and show unconditional adoration to those whom he’d reaped, but none of them were ignorant to his true nature.

“I think you might be right,” York said softly, but offered Theta smile. “Just wait for me to give him the news, and then it shouldn’t worry him as much when you do go visit. Kay?”

Theta brightened at the solution.

“Kay!” Theta looked between all three of them and scuffed his sneaker lightly on the ground. “Sorry for interrupting. I gotta go back now.”

All three of them chorused a warm goodbye and Theta offered them all one last smile before running back the way he had come. Tucker watched him go and then wandered around the room a little as York and Wash started to talk about York’s recent assignment. He only half-listened to them puzzling through the issue, much more interested in the tiny kitchen he wandered into as his stomach started rumbling insistently.

The two had moved on to discussing another Reaper both of them were close to when Tucker wandered back out of the kitchen with a cookie stuffed in his mouth. The two were done under half an hour later, Wash turning to Tucker where he now perched on the armrest of one of the couches. He had been trying to figure out what the boardgame was, but the usual influx of knowledge that happened when Tucker recognized something he no longer possessed a coherent memory of hadn’t occurred. Instead the game remained a confusing and nonsensical mystery. He half wondered if the love angels and seraphs in the base had simply made it up.

“Have a fun sleep-over,” York told him cheerfully as they left, offering a wink to Wash who merely rolled his eyes in response. Tucker gave him a jaunty wave and fell into step at Wash’s shoulder as they exited the room and began to make their way back down the long hallways.

“I really hope dinner’s made when we get back,” Wash said wistfully, and Tucker couldn’t help the mirth that tickled his lips.

“Knowing them, they probably only just finished whatever food fight or argument they got into as soon as we left,” Tucker said, and grinned a little at Wash’s soft groan. “Hey, look on the bright side. Everyone at that precinct is apparently still alive and you solved York’s problem. You love it when you know more than someone else.”

He kept his voice light and offered Wash a slight nudge to lessen the sharpness of the teasing barb. Wash glanced at him with narrowed eyes.

“You already ate when we were there, didn’t you,” Wash said darkly, and Tucker shrugged.

“They had chocolate chip cookies.”

Wash shook his head, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“I’m glad Connie’s okay,” Wash said a moment later, not rushing their pace despite his obvious hunger. “North and South have been through enough.”

“I’m not surprised she’s fine,” Tucker said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Pretty sure everyone at that place has found the secret to eternal life.”

“The secret to eternal life?” Tucker didn’t look up despite the amusement coating every syllable of Wash’s words.

“Fuck yeah, dude. There’s no way they all keep surviving these massive injuries on just pure luck.”

Inspired by the idea and the suppressed smiles it kept earning from Wash, Tucker continued down the train of thought with a teasing enthusiasm. After all his time spent with the Blues and Reds, not to mention the last few months watching over those at the police station, spinning his tall tale came easily. Within a few minutes he had Wash laughing out loud while he grinned and gestured with his wild explanations.  

They were thirty steps away from the exit of the building when another person appeared. The laughter on Wash’s lips cut off in a second and he pulled away from Tucker before Tucker even realized the mirth in his face was gone.

“Hello, Washington,” the new person came to a halt in front of them, curious dark eyes studying their faces as he offered them a small smile. He wore a charcoal business suit, black leather messenger bag hanging from his back. The Reaper moved his gaze to Tucker and said, “And?”

“Tucker,” Tucker replied after a second, voice gone quiet at the stiffness of Wash’s body. He suddenly looked as he had that vey first day he arrived at Blue base, all taut muscles, clenched teeth, and paranoia hiding in his blank eyes.

“What are you doing here tonight, Counselor?” Wash asked the Reaper with a degree of respect Tucker had never heard in his voice before. He frowned at the slight undercurrent of anxiety, but stayed quiet and still as Wash’s body posture screamed _no touching_ and Tucker didn’t know which comforting words would be welcome in front of this man.

“I was looking for Theta,” the Counselor said, as relaxed as Wash was tense. “And I needed to speak with York about a…complication that has just come up with his recent assignment.”

“Theta just left,” Tucker offered, hoping that would make the Reaper leave. He nodded, offering Tucker another smile that made his skin crawl.

“Then I should speak with York,” the Counselor replied, and Tucker didn’t care how much relief showed on his expression at that.

The Reaper turned to the silent Wash and offering his parting words. When he started to move away from them, Tucker began walking the opposite way hoping Wash would follow him. It took a few seconds, but eventually Wash joined his side, though still without any words.

“You know, if you go back looking like that, everyone will think Connie _did_ die,” Tucker told him, and Wash blinked up at him as if just waking from a dream. Any attempts at a teasing smile fell from Tucker’s face as he swayed into Wash’s personal space. “Seriously, dude, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Wash said slowly, and then gave his head a shake at Tucker’s exasperated look. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just surprised to see him here, that’s all.”

Tucker snorted at that, but bit back any sarcastic statements about the validity of Wash’s statement. He knew that the Reapers interacted more with the love angels in this base for whatever reason. Proximity maybe, or maybe they all had sticks up their asses and therefore didn’t appreciate the Reds and Blues’ antics. Not that Tucker believed that of Theta, but the other love angels in his canyon never talked about the Reapers who took them with fondness. Or talked about them in general.

Whatever the reasons for Wash’s reaction, though, it had looked like a lot more than simple surprise.

“So how much would you pay me for the cookie that’s still in my pocket?” Tucker asked, the incredulity crossing over Wash’s face making him look a little more like his usual self.

“Nothing if it’s all crumbs,” Wash replied, and Tucker did smile a little at that.

“Ha, joke’s on you.” He pulled out a fully formed cookie. “Watching Grif for so long hasn’t been a complete waste of time.”

That earned a small smile from Wash, and his shoulders eased another fraction. By the time they reached the exit of the base, Tucker no longer felt like he was walking beside the stranger Wash had been when they first met, and Wash didn’t look like every part of him was tensed for an attack.

Neither of them noticed the Counselor watching them with a dawning understanding in his eyes.

And neither of them heard his quiet murmur of “interesting” before he too disappeared from the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that one got much longer than I thought it would but hopefully you enjoyed all the new developments!
> 
> This likely won't come up in the story proper so I'll just give the extra tidbit here: the oldest love angel at York and North's base who is in charge of assignments like Sarge is 479er.


	6. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day started out normal enough, but so had the day North died.

The day started out normal enough, but so had the day North died. Both South and Connie were up bright and early for their jobs, North’s twin only half-awake where she slumped at the small kitchen table with her fingers wrapped tightly around a coffee mug. She didn’t take any sips, bleary gaze following her girlfriend’s movements as she collected food for lunch that day. North crammed himself into one small corner of the kitchen, the two-person table South sat at shoved into another. The entire apartment was a small box, but the place was a constant mess of personal items, decorated walls, and bright furniture, so it was good enough for the two humans to call home.  

“Remember we’re going out for dinner tonight,” Connie called over her shoulder to South, peering inside the fridge. South grunted in response and North rolled his eyes at her.

Connie found the apples she’d been looking for, glancing over at her sleepy girlfriend when Connie moved away from the fridge and put the fruit into her brown lunch bag.

“I’ll text you,” Connie said, small smile tugging at her lips. South’s expression finally changed as she offered a glare from underneath the purple tipped fringe of her pale blonde hair.

“I’m not _that_ forgetful,” South said, though there was no heat in her voice. “If anything, you’ll get lost in your paperwork and I’ll have to text you.”

Connie considered her words for half a second and then a grin lit up her face.

“True,” she said, grabbing her lunch bag off the counter. She placed it beside the briefcase already in the kitchen doorway, brown ponytail swishing behind her when she moved. Then she turned back around to give South another smile, this one softened by unconditional affection.

South tilted her head up the moment Connie stepped into her personal space, and North looked away as the women kissed.

“Love you,” Connie said as she left, apartment door easing shut behind her as the twins remained in the kitchen.

North turned his gaze back to his sister as she rubbed at her eyes. She still didn’t try to drink the coffee and North shook his head at her.

“You know you need to eat something too, sister mine,” North told her. Nothing but silence met his words, not even the smallest of South’s muscles stirring.

Her cellphone went off, and she uncurled one hand from the mug to take it out of her pocket. A message from work, judging by the scowl, and North leaned back against the purple painted wall.

South made a disgusted noise a few seconds later and then stomped out of the kitchen. Changing out of her tank top and violet pyjama shorts into work clothes, as per the morning routine. North watched her go and tilted his head as he considered his options. York had assured him the seraph was unnecessary for the rest of the day’s work, offering him a grin alongside those words. He knew just as well as North that today was South and Connie’s four year anniversary, a special day not only because she was his twin, but also because North had been the seraph to help York get them get together those four years ago.

North peeled himself off the wall. Judging by South’s response to the message, today her job would be either boring or spent yelling at various different people. Connie, on the other hand, was supposed to be doing a drug bust that day and even with all of her skill and confidence, North could still see the sparks of worry hidden in his twin’s face.

He gave the coffee mug South had left on the rickety table one last glance, the liquid inside gone cold. With a twist of his fingers, steam lazily rose from the surface of the newly-heated coffee, and then North vanished from the room without a sound.

 

He reappeared outside of the apartment building and then sprung into the air to fly to the police station Connie worked at. She was already inside once North arrived, sliding into the seat across her work partner, Tex.

“Maine wants to see us before we head out,” Tex told her, already geared up and getting up from her desk at Connie’s arrival. Connie nodded, putting away her bags before following Tex into the captain’s office.

North waited by their desks, gazing around at the familiar hub of activity and cops. He had met the majority of those at the precinct through working as a paramedic before his untimely death six years ago. Tex had been the first one he bonded with, an injured perp usually in tow. He met Connie next, and then like a suddenly sprung Venus flytrap, he and South found themselves engulfed by the weird family the station’s cops formed.

The two cops exited the captain’s office fifteen minutes later, faces set in a determined mask and bodies ready for action. Grif and Simmons waited at the entrance for them, bickering about some movie they had watched the other night.

“Ready?” Connie asked them with a smile. Grif nodded with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans while Simmons’ gave them a jerky approximation of a nod. Even though Simmons and Grif would be backup only and the intel spoke of a low-risk drug bust with only a few perps on-site, the redhead’s endless anxiety twisted his face.

The four of them drove halfway across the city in two different cruisers before Tex and Connie parked theirs a good twenty minute walk from their target. Simmons and Grif parked on the same block in a dilapidated parking lot for a now abandoned gas station a few buildings down from the targeted one. Tex and Connie both wore a plain black jacket over their bulletproof vest, guns tucked safely in the holsters at their waists. North followed them as they made their way down the cracked sidewalks, gazes constantly sweeping the landscape.

Warehouses loomed in the distance, smoke billowing from the brown and grey industrial smokestacks to the overcast sky above. A decrepit residential area clung to the borders of the industrial zone, only one person outside and sparing Tex and Connie a glance as they walked through the rows of squatting houses.

A black chain-link fence met them at the first warehouse, but they kept moving along the edge and ignored the building beyond. Their target was the fourth one on the block; an ugly, grey hulk of a building with graffiti on the walls and dark windows overlooking the paved space in front of it. Tex and Connie wandered along the sidewalk out front at first, both humans and seraph noting the absence of any vehicles just as should have been the case based on previous stake-outs.

“See anything?” Connie muttered, and Tex shook her head.

“Area around us is clear,” Simmons’ voice said over Connie’s earpiece, North’s seraph hearing making it sound as if Simmons stood right at his side. “Just some guys hauling crates into a legit one.”

“No one is supposed to be here, but keep your guards up,” Tex told them as she and Connie veered around the side of the target warehouse. There were no windows along the side, and Tex and Connie did a quick scan before darting toward the exterior wall.

“Yeah, yeah, we all read the report.”

“You didn’t read it, Grif!”

“Yeah but you told me all about it so it’s all good.”

“Door in sight,” Connie cut them off as she and Tex creeped around to the back wall to the metal backdoor. “No more chatter till we give the clear.”

“Did you remember the warrant?”

“When has Connie ever forgotten the warrant, Simmons?”

“It’s a valid question! You never know–”

“Both of you shut the fuck up,” Tex said, and the pair instantly went silent.

“You sure we can’t just go in the front?” Connie asked quietly as Tex broke the rusty lock off the door.

“Just in case,” Tex said, and Connie didn’t argue any further. Tex went in first, gun raised, and North followed Connie inside.

Crates towered above them on every side, not a single label on any of the wooden planks. North frowned at the maze of pathways the stacked containers formed, grateful he didn’t have wings to worry about in the cramped space. Artificial light offered little ability to see immediately in front of them, though North could make out a glow in the center of the warehouse that he assumed came from the lights directly above the grow-op.

The two cops paused only a few feet from the door they had entered through. Tex twisted slightly, giving Connie a nod before moving forward. Connie raised her own gun and followed Tex as she began to make her way down the empty space. They reached a four way intersection in the paths formed by the crates, the two humans swinging into the perpendicular paths with their guns raised and backs to each other. They lowered their guns only a fraction when nobody stood there, and then glanced at the other.

_Split up?_ Connie mouthed, and Tex shook her head. Connie didn’t argue, and they continued down the same path as before toward the center of the warehouse. North looked up briefly to the top of the crates where he might have a better view, but simply continued to follow in the humans’ footsteps.

A minute later a gunshot cracked the tense silence of the warehouse. North jumped at the sound and for a moment–

_He’s bleeding, oh god, he’s bleeding everywhere and there’s too much_. _Too much blood, the paramedic and the scared man inside him are both screaming. It’s spraying everywhere and he can’t keep standing with the burning in his shoulder and his gut, and he can’t stop screaming because he’s treated plenty of gunshot wounds before but he’s never had one, has heard them described to him by patients in a hundred different ways in a hundred different voices, but none of them ever came close to accurately describing how the lead feels when its lodged in your own skin. And there’s a voice rising above his screaming and the voice is swearing, the voice is saying it’s not the right person, it’s not the fucking chick, and then there’s more gunshots, and Connie is screaming, Connie is screaming_ –

Connie’s scream came a second after the gunshot, and she twisted in North’s direction. Her arm only managed to rise halfway before another bullet slammed into her and she crumpled to the ground. North turned, catching sight of a too-skinny teenager with fuzz for hair and a sneer beneath his scared eyes before Tex’s bullets knocked him to the ground and his own blood stained his skin.

“I need back-up right now, two men down, one perp and Connie,” Tex snapped, and North barely heard the swearing on the other end over the sound of his sudden hard breathing. Tex flipped the kid onto his stomach without any care for his wounds or the pained cry he made, handcuffing his hands behind his back. “Get the paramedics on scene ASAP.”

Tex searched the perpetuator for weapons as North stumbled over to Connie’s fallen form.

“Oh no no no,” he whispered as he fell to his own knees at her side. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, pain-filled eyes open but unfocused. Blood seeped from the bullet hole in her chest despite the vest she wore under her clothes.

Tex dropped to Connie’s other side a second later, eyes widening at the sight of the hole.

“Bullet got through the vest,” Tex said to Simmons. “Better weaponry than we initially thought, but the one I shot doesn’t look like he’s even in college yet.”

North didn’t hear Simmons’ response as he focused solely on the bullet wound. Grasping at every bit of angelic power he possessed, North put as much psychic pressure on the wound as he could. Changing the temperature and applying psychic pressure to material objects were the majority of a seraph’s limited ability to affect the physical environment, and North bit back a curse as Connie continued to gasp in pain.

“Stay with me, Connie,” Tex said, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there when giving orders to the other cops sneaking into her voice when she spoke to her partner. “Keep your eyes open.”

Connie shifted her gaze the slightest as North continued to desperately apply as much pressure as he could. Tex pressed her own jacket over Connie’s wound, but Connie’s eyes kept sliding close and North wanted to scream as loud as the day he died.

“You’re stronger than this, Connie,” North told her, hand hovering just above her arm. More words rose in his throat, but they only choked him and reminded him of the way blood filled his throat the day he died.

“South needs you,” North managed to get out, and the thought of his twin showing up at the hospital because another person she loved was riddled with bullet holes made the purpe Gladiolus tattoo on North’s face burn.

_“What will let me watch over my sister?” he asks the faceless voice(s). All around him there’s just light, only light with no colour at all, and that should scare him, but the only thing he’s capable of seeing at the moment is his twin’s face._

_“You do not fit the requirements to be a love angel. However, a sadness over life lost rather than bitterness or anger, and a desire to help those still living means your soul can become a seraph.”_

_“That will let me help her?”_

_“Seraphs can control the environments in small ways and watch over the lives of humans. They are assigned to a base of love angels to help them with their assignments.”_

_“Then make me one.”_

_He realizes later that they_ – _for no gender could be ascribed to the voice(s) he heard_ _and could barely remember_ – _didn’t actually expect him to remember South. Most seraphs are like love angels in their inability to remember their past lives, but even death and all its immortal entities cannot stop him from knowing his twin even when most of his other memories have been stolen._

All this to help South even the smallest amount, but in the moment she needed him the most, all North could do was buy her girlfriend a few more seconds of gasping breath and weak heartbeats.

“I swear to god, Connie, I will drag your ass back from hell myself if I have to,” Tex told her, human and seraph pressing as hard as they could on the wound. Nobody else had stumbled across them, cop or enemy, and North almost wished another perpetuator would to see Tex beat the shit out of them.

Instead, the sound of sirens filled the air and shouting echoed from further in the warehouse, but nobody disturbed the circle of the dying and already dead.

Her breaths coming in weaker, Connie’s head rolled away from Tex’s direction and her eyes shifted toward the ceiling. North could see the light in them fading as her eyelids fluttered close, but for one brief moment, shocked awareness pushed away everything else.

Her gaze locked onto North’s face and just before she finally slipped into unconsciousness, Connie whispered,

“North.”

***

South stormed into the hospital waiting room like she was entering a warzone. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth twisted the second she spotted her target. North started to move toward South as she marched to where Tex sat, coming to a halt a second before she reached Tex when he remembered the intangibleness of his form.

“What the fuck did you do?” South demanded, no attempt made to keep her voice low. The few other people in the waiting room twisted slightly in the plastic seats at her loud voice, most of them retreating into their own bubble of silence a moment later.

“They were better equipped than we thought they would be,” Tex replied in a clipped tone as she climbed to her feet and South leaned into her personal space. North hovered between the two women, helpless to do anything if the two got into one of the full-blown shouting matches he and Connie used to mediate when they were both alive. “And it wasn’t as empty as we thought. One of them snuck up on us, bullet got through Connie’s vest.”

“It was supposed to be an easy bust!”

“I’m fucking aware, South,” Tex snapped. “But we got it wrong.”

“I thought Ms. Number One Cop didn’t make mistakes,” South shot back, both hands curled into fists at her sides. “Cuz she’s too good for the rest of us mortals–too good to bother saving other cops.”

“South!” North snapped despite the fact that neither of them could hear him.

“I’m not your shitty punching bag, South,” Tex said through gritted teeth. “Take your feelings out on something else.”

“What else are you fucking good for then?”

“It wasn’t her fault, South,” North said as the two glared at each other.

“Is there a problem here?” Both of them jerked their gazes away from each other at a nurse’s overly polite voice. South looked ready to rip the woman’s throat out at the interruption, and Tex shifted slightly toward the newcomer.

“My girlfriend was shot earlier,” South told her with a surprising degree of neutrality. “The cop.”

“Agent Connecticut, yes,” the nurse replied, not a single flicker in her calm composure despite the tension rolling off both South and Tex. “She’s just coming out of surgery now, but you’ll have to wait for a while before they let in any visitors. She’s in critical but stable condition right now. I’ll call you when you’re free to go in.”

“Fine,” South said, and whirled to go find a seat without another word for Tex. The moment she left, the nurse wandered off, but Tex watched South’s back for a single second. Then she dropped into the plastic seat from before and North followed his twin.

She plopped down into a faded blue seat on the opposite side of the room from Tex, but her posture didn’t relax in the slightest. Her chin stayed jutted out toward the room as if daring any of the people enclosed within the plain four walls to utter a single word to her. She crossed her legs, and then crossed her arms over her chest with a glare. The nurse disappeared behind the doors closed to the public, Tex withdrew her phone from her pocket, and a quiet broken by murmured conversations returned to the waiting room.

“I’m so sorry, South,” North said quietly. The seats on either side of her were empty, so he lowered himself into the one on her right side. Not even the slightest twitch of muscle met North’s words and he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. A sigh escaped his lips when he looked over at his twin once more, all brittle bones and coiled limbs and anger at the entire world.

“I would have saved her if I could,” North told her, gaze lingering briefly on the purple dye she’d added to her hair a few days after his death.

_“Maybe this would have fucking saved him,” she says to Connie with bitter laughter once she and Connie have drunk half a bottle of tequila each. North can’t watch anymore after that, and the second he returns to the base he has York cut his hair from his sister’s length to a buzz cut._

“Just like she would have saved me if she could have,” North said, the bitter laughter from his memories almost pouring from his lips. Instead, he leaned as close to South’s shoulder as he could get before an invisible barrier stopped him, chest aching at the inability for them to take mutual comfort in each other’s presence as they did when children. “But hey, she’s doing better than me. And Tex gave the perp a bunch of bullets for his trouble, just like you would have wanted.”

_“He deserves to rot,” South screams at Connie, and North can’t do anything for either of them but watch. “He deserves torture and poison and ripped out intestines–not ten fucking years with a chance of parole.”_

_“South–”_

_“I should just shoot him my fucking self, if that’s the only punishment I’ll get. Stick a shotgun in his mouth and blow his fucking brains out.”_

_York shows up a moment later while Connie is doing her best to a calm South who doesn’t want comfort or rationality, just the blood of those who killed North._

_“Come on, North,” York says quietly, hand gripping the seraph’s shoulder and pulling him away from the human grief he can no longer ease._

“I’m so sorry,” North repeated, even though South would have shouted at him to keep his useless apologies to himself if she could hear him.

North didn’t know how much time passed in silence before a nurse finally told South she could go see Connie. He hurried after his sister’s long stride, listening to the nurse explain Connie’s injuries and condition to South while they hurried down the halls. He only caught a glimpse of Tex watching them from her chair before they disappeared from the waiting room, and she didn’t try to follow them.

South went to Connie’s side the second they entered her room, scowling at the various beeping machines. The moment her gaze fell on Connie’s still form the scowl deepened, but an undisguisable grief shone in her bright gaze. She gripped Connie’s left hand and slipped into a chair the nurse placed at the side of the bed. North moved to stand on the other side, gazing down at the pale face of the woman he’d only been friends with for one year before she stood over his dying body.

_He’s lying on the pavement and her hand is on his shoulder and pressing at his wounds, and she’s telling him not to go,_ begging _him to keep breathing until the paramedics get there, but there’s a coldness eating away the pain and a little boy with a rainbow-coloured backpack looking down at him with the sadness of the universe in his wide eyes._

They stayed like that until the sun set outside, life and death watching together, and both praying for Connie’s continued breathing.

***

South went to the hospital to see Connie every day. Everyone from the cop station came to visit as did Connie’s parents for a brief time. North took some time out of each day to check in as well, all of the other love angels and seraphs giving him their well-wishes to carry down to earth with him. There were circles under South’s eyes and a constant edge to her tone that North hadn’t heard since the year after he died. More times than not there was a cup of shitty hospital coffee in South’s hands, and North tweaked the temperature back to warmth every time while trying not to scream about the fact that he could do little else.

Tex came and went the most. Worry turned to anger kept South at odds with her despite the strange but positive bond the two managed to obtain over the years, and after the first day at the hospital, Tex stayed quiet for the majority of her visits.

On the fifth day since the shooting, Connie remained asleep and North found himself in her hospital room by himself. He took the seat South normally occupied, wondering idly how long it would be until his twin inevitably showed up.

“North.”

For a moment, every part of him went still. Separately, that voice and his name being called made sense, but not together. He hadn’t been addressed by that voice in over six years except for in his memories.

A second passed, and then North shot to his feet. He whirled around to the doorway where Tex stood watching. Not watching the rise and fall of Connie’s breath, not studying the variety of get-well cards on the small table in the room, not looking through the window at the sun soaked lawn outside.

Looking at _him_.

“Tex,” he breathed, and his old friend’s gaze met his eyes directly. “You can see me?”

She leaned against the doorframe and the smallest of smirks touched her lips.

_She smirks even when she winces as he patches up the nasty gash cutting across her forehead. She smirks even as he rolls his eyes and asks what perp she had fought with this time and how they managed to get away from her. She smirks when South meets her and calls her a bitch for the first time._

_He sees it more than he sees her genuine smile, but one month after his death, he would give anything to see it gracing her face once more._

“Yeah,” she replied, eyes moving to study the tattoo framing his face. “Not quite sure what you are, though.”

“Seraph,” he told her without stopping to consider how much information he should be giving her. “We help love angels get people into relationships. They’re like cupids, and we’re the helpers.”

“Huh,” she said, and took a step into the room. “You weren’t that big on romantic relationships when you were alive.”

“It was the only way to watch over South,” North said, and Tex’s face softened minutely in understanding. “And affect the environment as much as anyone who’s dead can.”

“You were there,” Tex said, glancing over at Connie. “When she got shot. Trying to press against her wound. I could feel the pressure.”

“You didn’t acknowledge me,” North said with a frown.

“No, I didn’t.”

“So when–”

“Motorcycle accident,” Tex interrupted, tapping her side lightly where she had to get stitches. “You hear about that?”

“Yeah,” North said. He opened his mouth but then closed it a second later for he couldn’t coherently express the relief that filled him the day Theta told him Tex wasn’t on any Reaper lists. “But I’ve seen you plenty of times since then and you never seemed to notice me. Or Tucker, and he’s at the station almost every day.”

“I didn’t know if you were real or not,” Tex said with a snort. “Figured those heavy painkillers they had me on were fucking with me. Remember all the shit Simmons did when he got his wisdom teeth pulled?”

North laughed a little at the memory, and Tex gave him a full smile.

_“You’re alright, North,” she tells him three months after they’ve started hanging out when neither one of them are working or injured, and the smile that accompanies those words is as beautiful as it is rare._

“So what changed your mind?” North asked, shoulders easing despite the shock that faded away with each passing second spent finally talking to his old friend again.

Her smile retreated into a smirk as she said,

“I had a change of heart.”

***

 

Church was waiting for her when she got back to her apartment, sitting at the kitchen counter and tossing a beer cap from hand to hand. He looked up sharply as she entered and dropped her bag by the door.

“She doing okay?” he asked.

“Better,” Tex replied, and tilted her head at him.

Without another word, she crossed the small distance between them and dragged him up into a kiss, half of her just wanting to see if he would react the same as last time.

Church kissed back without any hesitation and a moan sounded at the back of his throat, as if he’d been craving this since they last saw each other five days ago and she initiated their first kiss. The thought made her smirk against his lips and deepen the kiss to hear that noise again.

His wings flared up behind him and the holster she had yet to take off dug into her skin, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t stop until he was splayed out beneath her on her bed, naked, wings a canvas of the blue sky, shaking apart with the climax of pleasure.

He never stayed the night, even once they started having sex, which was just as well. He did, however, spend some time sprawled on her bed after, and she let him. He didn’t seem to mind when she laid on his wings, and she wondered how that worked given he could clearly feel it when she grabbed at them with her hands.

She didn’t ask.

She didn’t ask, but she amused herself by fiddling with the feathers. She purposefully ruffled them and stuck them up to earn a scowl from Church. She smoothed out the ones that were messed up during sex, dragging a long exhale from Church as his eyes fluttered close. She prodded and massaged the wings, fascinated by the new anatomy, always earning several smartass comments from Church that dissolved into their usually mode of bickering.

He kept returning to her apartment, she kept having sex with him, Connie kept getting better, and Tex’s life fell into a surreal routine where the living and dead constantly flitted in and out of her path.

Then Connie healed enough to leave the hospital, though not return to work, and Tex and North arranged a time for her to learn the truth. North had stopped visiting the hospital when Connie woke up, for he didn’t want to scare her in front of everyone, but he agreed not to hide his presence from her forever.

So three days after Connie was once more settled in her and South’s apartment, Tex invited Connie over for dinner. North hovered in the kitchen while they waited for her to show, not moving when there finally came a knock at the door. Tex opened it to Connie standing there alone, just as requested. She gave Tex a puzzled look when Tex didn’t immediately move to let her in.

“What do you remember seeing when you were shot?” Tex asked, and she saw North wince out of the corner of her eyes. Connie frowned at her and shifted slightly.

“I don’t–I caught a glimpse of the perp if that’s what this is about?”

“No,” Tex said, and contemplated leading her to the answer slowly before simply saying, “I mean the name you said right before you passed out.”

Connie paled and Tex felt her shoulders ease in relief at her remembrance.

“I was delirious,” Connie replied after a moment’s pause. “In pain and–”

“You weren’t hallucinating, Connie,” Tex cut her off, leaning against the door. “You saw North.”

“North is dead,” Connie said, the harshness scraping her voice more familiar coming from South’s mouth than Tex’s best friend.

“Technically that’s true,” North finally decided to speak, and any last remaining blood in Connie’s face drained away at the noise.

“You’re not going crazy,” Tex said before Connie could freak out. “I can hear and see him too.”

Finally Tex stepped away from the door, giving Connie space to enter the apartment. She didn’t move for a long time, simply stood there with an unseeing gaze and parted mouth. Tex spared a glance for North who watched Connie with obvious concern and didn’t make any attempts to move any closer.

“Connie,” Tex said softly, and gripped her friend’s shoulder. Connie’s wide gaze flickered to her. “Just look.”

Connie stumbled as Tex maneuvered her into the apartment. The door slid shut behind them and Tex turned her friend to face North where he stood in the kitchen by the fridge. Silence surrounded them as North offered Connie one of the gentlest smiles Tex had ever seen on his face.

“Hey, Connie,” North said, and the purple colour of his tattoo seemed to grow more vibrant as affection softened his eyes.

Seconds ticked by, and when Connie finally spoke, the word barely stirred the air.

“North?” she whispered.

“It’s me,” he replied, nobody moving from their spots yet.

“A ghost?” Connie asked, looking between the two of them. Her voice stayed at a whisper as if speaking any louder would cause North to vanish.

North shook his head.

“No, not a ghost. I’m a lot more solid than that. I’m a seraph–like an angelic helper.”

“You almost died,” Tex explained. “Just like I nearly died in that motorcycle accident. So now we can see them.”

Tex watched Connie’s eyebrows knit together and her mouth purse in consideration like she did every time they found new evidence for a case. She looked over at Tex again after another moment passed in quiet.

“This isn’t some kind of prank?”

“Even I’m not that heartless,” Tex said, and something like a smile tugged at Connie’s lips. Then she turned back to face North who watched them both with a sad adoration that hurt to look at it.

Without a word, Connie suddenly strode across the empty space and flung her arms around North’s neck. North froze with a shocked expression for about half a second before his arms wrapped tightly around Connie. He closed his eyes, bending over Connie’s smaller frame while Tex’s lips curled up at the corners.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” North whispered in response to the words that spilled from Connie’s lips and were muffled by his shoulder. Connie said something else Tex couldn’t hear and then they both tightened their grips on the other. They stayed like that for a long, picturesque moment before North said, “thank you for taking care of my sister.”

Connie pulled away gently at that, frantic eyes going from Tex to North.

“South,” she said. “How do we tell South?”

Tex opened her mouth but North quickly cut her off.

“We don’t,” he said, and Tex frowned at him. Connie placed her hands on her hips with an unimpressed scowl.

“What do you mean we _don’t_?” she demanded. “She deserves to know about this! You deserve to be able to talk to her!”

“You’ve already told her not to blame herself, just like I would have,” North replied, Tex examining the desperation starting to creep into his face. “Just like I’m telling _both_ of you the same thing right now.”

Connie’s expression hardened at that, and Tex opened her mouth, but Connie beat her to it.

“Those perps went after South because of _me_ ,” Connie snapped, and North took a step closer to her at that. “Not because she needed to switch her usual shift, not because you covered that shift, not because you two looked so alike–they hurt you because they wanted to hurt _me_.”

“They went after us because they’re murdering cowards,” North shot back. “Because you were doing your job as a good cop and trying to bring them in for their crimes, and they’re horrible people who would rather kill even more people than own up to their actions.”  

North took a deep breath as Connie wrapped her arms tightly around her body.

“Told you he wouldn’t blame you,” Tex said quietly. It was an old argument that hadn’t flared up for years now except on the anniversary of North’s death, but Tex knew silence was never a guarantee the issue had been resolved.

Especially with Connie.

“Connie,” North started, and then shook his head. “Just–tell yourself the same things you tell South. Please.”

Connie looked away from both of them as her expression crumbled a little. A minute ticked by in dead silence before she turned back to them.

“Fine,” she said, “But that doesn’t change the fact that South deserves the chance to hear from you.”

Tex shook her head a little at the change of subject and Connie’s obvious deflection of accepting her lack of guilt, but she didn’t press it.

“She won’t believe you,” North told Connie a little desperately. “She’ll think your lying or making it up and she’ll never forgive you for it.”

“So tell me something only she knows about you. Or something only you know about her. That’s evidence.”

“And you said you can manipulate the environment,” Tex reminded him. “So Connie tells her whatever you repeat to her and then you do something to show you’re there.”

North looked between them, a hesitancy that stemmed from a fear of crushed hopes lining his face.

“I always reheat her coffee,” he offered, words dripping slowly from his lips. “She always forgets she’s made it until it’s cold. She used to do that with any hot drink when we were younger–she or Mom would make it but three seconds later she’d been doing something else and forget all about it.”

“That’s perfect,” Connie assured him.

Her eyes brightened with the light of at least half a dozen plans already spinning into existence inside her rapid-fire brain, and both North and Tex grinned at the sight, just like they used too when they were all still alive.

***

Tex elected not to be there when Connie convinced South of North’s presence. Their relationship was now on rocky grounds similar to when they first met each other thanks to Connie’s near-death experience, and Tex intruding on such an emotional afternoon wouldn’t help.

And if there was one thing the two could agree on, it was their mutual dislike of having any spectators to their more vulnerable moments.

Tex got one text message from Connie that night that simply said, _mission a success._ The details didn’t come until the next day when Connie called to assure Tex they managed to convince South of the truth before she broke any cutlery in the belief that Connie was lying to her. Tex saw North the following day at work, and if Connie’s phone call hadn’t been enough to convince Tex of the supposed happy ending, then North’s massive grin certainly would have.

The love angel with aqua coloured wings at her work remained ignorant of Tex’s ability to see him, but she wasn’t in any hurry to correct that. Though if he continued shouting about Grif and Simmons’ inability to confess their true feelings for each other, she might change her mind just to yell at him to shut up.

There were more important introductions to be made before that, anyways. Which was why, two days after the Dakota twins’ reunion, Tex lounged on her couch after Church left for the night with her fingers hovering over her phone’s keypad.

_Can u come to my house after work tomorrow?_ Tex texted Connie, tacking on a brief explanation a second later. _There’s someone u should probably meet_

_Sure, who is it?_ Connie’s message came through only a moment later, and Tex leaned back into the cushions as the night swirled all around her.

_No telling the Dakota twins_

_Cross my heart_ , Connie replied quickly.

_Love angel_

_...is it someone you know?_ Tex smiled a little to herself at the response, easily imagining Connie’s suspicious look as she typed out that reply.

_I’m fucking him_

Time stretched on with no reply, and Tex simply hummed a little while she waited.

_You know I don’t judge other peoples’ sex lives,_ the reply came after another minute, _but isn’t having an affair with an angel like…a massive sin? Like, going-straight-to-hell sin_

_Love angel_ , Tex corrected, and she practically heard Connie’s snort when she replied in under ten seconds.

_You know what I mean_

_Idk,_ Tex told her after a brief consideration of the question, _he doesn’t seem to be worried and nothing’s happened so_

_Well holy fuck then_

_Not sure I’d use that descriptor exactly but_

_Haha, you know what I mean. What time do I get to meet him?_

Tex smirked.

_I told him to be here around seven._

_I’ll come at six. Dinner’s on you_

Connie arrived right on time the next day, and Tex rolled her eyes at the excitement barely contained by her friend’s small bones and compact muscle. She couldn’t move as fast as she could before the gunshot wounds, though every flash of pain Tex managed to spot was quickly covered by a stubborn expression and easy smile.

“So does he look like North?” Connie asked once they sat on the couch eating their pasta as a muted movie played on the TV. She gestured to her face with her fork, barely avoiding splattering herself with tomato sauce. “You know, with the whole tattoo thing?”

“You didn’t talk a lot about it with North?”

“I mean, kinda? But also not really, the focus has been more on reuniting with South. He told us a bit about the others who live in the same base as him.” Connie chewed on her food for a moment with a thoughtful expression. “Though he _did_ mention something about him and his friend York being the one to help South and I get together. But he and South started arguing after that so I didn’t get many details on the whole love angel thing.”

“They have wings instead of tattoos,” Tex told her after taking a sip of milk. “And they’re supposed to help give the extra push to people who are already on their way to getting together. Not that this one fits the image of Cupid in any way.”

“You wouldn’t be interested in him if he did,” Connie snorted, merely giving her a grin when Tex kicked her shin lightly in response. “So what’s his name?”

“Church.”

Connie’s face scrunched up a little at that, but she didn’t comment given their own strange names. The conversation moved to discussing what Connie was missing at the precinct and Connie’s progression in physiotherapy after that, the world outside the apartment growing darker with each passing minute.

The barely perceptible sound of fluttering wings interrupted them half an hour later, and both women turned their heads toward the previously empty space in front of Tex’s bed.

Tex had not actually told Church there would be company over, and she watched him freeze at the sight of Connie staring at him wide eyes. He glanced at Tex with obvious confusion a second later, a scowl beginning to form on his face.

But he didn’t run away.

“This is Connie,” Tex said after another few seconds of shocked silence ticked by and Church stayed where he was. “Connie, Church.”

“Your work buddy Connie?” Church asked as Connie slowly climbed off the couch. He spared her another glance as she came around the back of the couch and then glared at Tex. “As in, the Connie who nearly died a couple weeks ago? As in, the Connie who can now see me thanks to that?”

“She’s my friend,” was the only explanation Tex offered, and Church blinked at her. He opened his mouth quickly, but no words fell from his lips. The longer the quiet stretched on, the more his scowl faded and the defensive stance to his posture seeped away.

“Funny,” Connie said, dragging everyone’s attention to her as her gaze slowly moved across Church’s body and amusement began to dance in her eyes. “I thought you’d be taller. And why are your wings blue?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that!”

Connie just laughed, a light sound that soothed nerves like water smoothing out stone.

Church turned to glare at Tex once more as she pressed her lips together to keep from smirking.

“You told her to say that,” Church accused her.

“I did no such thing,” Tex replied, and Connie laughed again.

“She really didn’t,” Connie assured him, and he crossed his arms over his chest in obvious disbelief. “Our friend North is a giant and you’re a supernatural entity so I guess I just assumed you’d all be massive.”

“That’s only Caboose,” Church muttered, and Connie tilted her head at the name.

“Caboose? Is he a love angel too?”

“No,” Church snorted. When Connie leaned against the backrest of the couch and Tex just looked at him over the backrest from where she still sat on the cushion, he sighed. “You’re going to want to know every single detail about this, aren’t you?”

“Will I be struck down by lightning if you answer my questions? Or is knowledge about angels less of a sin than fucking angels?”

Church choked on nothing but air at that, and Tex laughed. Connie just kept an easy smile on her face, and any remaining doubts Tex might have had about letting Connie in on the secret vanished.

“If nothing’s happened yet, we’re probably fine,” Church finally replied, trying to look mysterious a second later and failing miserably. “But who really fucking knows with this stuff. You still want to ask questions?”

“We’re cops,” Connie replied with a winning smile that Tex could never pull off. “It’s our job.”

Church grumbled at that, but an hour later found him sitting in between the two humans on the couch with relaxed shoulders and an animate expression on his face as he told stories and argued with Tex’s interjections. Two hours later found him sitting patiently on the couch with a scowl on his face as Tex and Connie coerced him into letting them put Kim Kardashian make-up on him. Tex could only hold back her laughter until Connie started taking pictures, words about the make-up matching the colour of his wings bubbling up through her laughter.

Three hours later Connie went home with an amused wave to both of them and Church gave up on wiping off the make-up when Tex started kissing him.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bulletproof vests are made out of strong non-woven and/or woven fibers so the material stops a bullet similar to how a net will stop a tennis ball or volleyball. This means there is a small chance of a bullet getting through the vest like in this case given they are actually bullet-resistant. A serrated bullet, ones that have a hard tip, or are fired at a high velocity will get through the fibers and right through the bullet proof vest.
> 
> In terms of flower meanings, Gladiolus symbolizes strength of character, faithfulness and honor. Most relevant to North and South is that it also signifies remembrance.
> 
> Technically in Canada, first-degree and second-degree murder carries with a life imprisonment with the possibility of parole after 25 or 10 years. Manslaughter carried out with a firearm requires a minimum sentence of four years. However, when the perp is 16 or 17, then the sentence can be 10 years without parole. Alcohol and all that jazz can also lessen the sentence. (So basically, the perp who originally got North was young, had a really good lawyer, and the legal system fucked up. I promise Connie and Tex did get the rest of them later though and got heavier sentences for them all).
> 
> You can thank my friend (and canon ambiguity hahaaa) for the idea of the Dakota twins looking so similar that they shoot North thinking it's South. South now works at a walk-in clinic rather than the hospital that she and North were paramedics at before he died. 
> 
> This is roughly the halfway mark so I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for leaving such kind comments and all of the kudos. Every one makes me smile and keeps me motivated to write even when suffering from writer's block!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know desperate sex, Church. The question is, what are you so desperate to forget?”

When Tucker flew back up through the abyss mid-afternoon in the middle of the week, Church was waiting for him. He sat on a low hanging tree branch, wings drooping behind him. The second Tucker landed on solid ground, Church heaved himself off the branch and into the air.

“Sarge and Vic wanted to see us,” Church told Tucker, voice sounding bored of the conversation before it had even begun.

“What about?” Tucker asked as he followed Church up above the treetops and then flew beside him as they headed back to the base.

“Hell if I know,” Church said with a shrug. “Vic just popped into Blue base, told me to get you for a meeting, and then said he’d be over with Sarge at Red base.”

“Where’s Wash?”

“Him and Caboose aren’t back yet.” Church glanced at Tucker. “I’m surprised _your_ back this early. Make actual progress with the idiots?”

“What about you?” Tucker shot back. “Things going so well with yours you decided to take the full day off?”

“I was with them this morning,” Church said.

He offered Tucker the middle finger before shooting ahead, leaving Tucker to swear and then give chase. He could see the corners of Church’s lips start to curl up and then Tucker shot past him with a loud whoop. Church’s shout caused him to roll onto his back so he could give the other love angel a smug grin. A roll of his eyes was Church’s only response before he picked up speed again. The wind whipped Tucker’s face as he quickly turned back over and started to fly as fast as he could toward the canyon wall.

The two of them shot through the entrance cut into the rocks and into the large canyon at the same time, shoving at each other’s shoulders as they soared through the clear sky. Loud curses trailed behind Tucker as he landed on top of Red base first, laughter spilling from his lips when Church landed a few seconds later with a scowl.

“You only won cuz I choked on that bug,” Church told him, and Tucker just scoffed at him.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Church,” Tucker said cheerfully, and then jumped down from the roof.

“Up yours, asshole,” Church shouted at him, and then joined him on the ground in front of Red base’s entrance.

They were still arguing when they walked into the common room of Red base, which possessed a similar layout to Blue base. There was a discernable pattern though to the soft hues of reds and pinks that covered the walls, and a lot more magazines scattered across the countertops and faded maroon couches. Red bean bags were also spread throughout the room, Sarge sitting on one of them wearing a much grimmer expression than anyone sinking into a beanbag chair had the right to possess. He sat ramrod straight with his arms crossed over his barrel chest, expression only growing darker when the two love angels stumbled into the room. He wore a red polo shirt and jeans instead of his uniform, and Tucker couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad sign.

Vic, the pure angel in charge of three different provinces of love angels and Reapers, sat on the couch to Sarge’s left, both pieces of furniture turned to face the doorway Tucker and Church walked through. He offered the two his usual smile when they walked in, his wings kept invisible for whatever reason just like always. Yet when Vic looked at them, Tucker spotted a pity in his eyes that killed all of Tucker’s cheer in an instant.

“Hello there, dudes,” Vic greeted them. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” Tucker supplied when Church just plopped down onto one of the beanbags across from Vic and Sarge in silence. Tucker dragged over another one and spent a minute trying to find a good position while Vic just watched.

“Coo coo,” Vic said with a nod. “Well then, dudes, I gotta let you know about some unfortunate news. Seems like there’s been some general complaints about your abilities as love angels.”

“Complaints?” Tucker and Church echoed at the same time, shooting each other a brief glance. Both of them struggled to sit up straighter in their unsteady seats as they looked back to Vic.

“Complaints, criticisms, grievances, protests, reproaches, accusations, the whole nine yards, dudes. Seems some peoples think you just aren’t fit to be a love angel.”

“That’s bullshit,” Church replied without pause. He didn’t sound any angrier than usual, but Tucker could see a similar shock to the one reverberating in his chest shining in Church’s wide eyes.

“Fraid not, dudes. The head honcho of the Reapers and some higher-ups there were very clear about their complaints. They–”

“Wait, _Reapers_?” Tucker interrupted. He glanced at Church for support in his angry disbelief, but Church went stiff at the mention of the other entities. Something close to horror was spreading across Church’s tense face and Tucker forced himself to look away before he lost himself analyzing the reasons for it. “What the fuck, Vic? Since when do they get to tell us how to do our jobs? They don’t know jackshit about it.”

“Hey now, dude, let’s not get too hostile here. And sides, the boss of the Reapers here was a love angel before he was a Reaper.”

“I still say it doesn’t make a goddamn lick of sense,” Sarge finally spoke up, levelling Vic with a nasty glare that had Tucker gaping at the older love angel. “Some puffed up Reaper who’s never seen these boys at work coming down here and telling them he wants them gone? Sounds mighty fishy to me.”

“He _has_ seen them in the field,” Vic replied, not at all ruffled by Sarge’s hostile tone. “And that Counselor’s gone over their report files, pointed out how long this assignment is taking–”

“Their current assignments are difficult ones,” Sarge argued, leaning forward with a stubborn set to his entire body. Tucker could only watch the argument play out between the higher ranked angels, brain finally starting to piece together what the consequences of these accusations might be and sending panic spiralling throughout him. “Getting those idiotic soulmates together took me ages last time and the Blue here is new to their habits–he doesn’t have my many years of expert observation and endless creativity to get them together lickety split.”

“It’s been months,” Vic said, “And I do have to listen to everyone in my area, not just you fine dudes. Them Reapers do rank higher than you love angels so if they go to an outside committee like they said–”

“What does he want?” Church’s quiet question silenced Vic and caused Sarge’s mouth to snap shut on a further protestation. Everyone turned to look at him, and Tucker tensed at the sight of Church’s slumped posture and bleak gaze.

“Don’t you worry, dudes, it’s nothing painful. Just stop.”

“Stop?” Tucker repeated, and Church slumped further into his seat.

“Stop being a love angel and get reincarnated, or move on to the afterlife,” Vic said calmly, as if his words weren’t lighting a match to Tucker’s whole world. “No punishments needed.”

“That _is_ a punishment!” Tucker said, shooting upright in his beanbag and nearly falling right off it. Desperation pushed his voice into a shout but Vic stayed still and serene. “Vic, come on, man. You can’t–you can’t make us leave just like that! We deserve better.”

“Surely six years is enough to warrant a little loyalty,” Sarge added, and Vic glanced between all of them without a flicker in his composure. “Second chances and all that.”

“Well this _is_ your first offense,” Vic said. Tucker bit back his protests that this wasn’t even a real offense as far as he was concerned, and waited for Vic to finish. “Tell you what, dudes. You get your current assignments done in three weeks with no help from your superiors–Sarge-o or Washington–and we’ll call it even. Record wiped clean of reports, no angry Reapers. Alrighty?”

“Sounds fair,” Sarge said before Tucker or Church could argue about their lack of time. When the older love angel turned his glare on them, they promptly shut their mouths. “Now get your diabolical Blue asses out of my base!”

Tucker and Church didn’t need to be told twice, scurrying out of their seats and down the hall without another look back. Vic didn’t follow and Tucker didn’t hear the cheerful parting words he shouted after them. The second fresh air hit his face, he shot into the air and zoomed away from Red base as fast as he could. He didn’t head back to Blue base, though, instead heading for the closest grassy slope leading from down the canyon walls. A scream built in his chest, but all the air punched out of him when his feet collided with the ground and jarred every bone in his body. He only took a couple stumbling steps before whirling back around to face the canyon and its two bases.

Church landed at his side a few seconds later in a much quieter manner. He sunk to the ground without a moment’s pause, pulling his knees up to his chest with a distant expression on his face. Tucker sighed and joined him a moment later.

For a long time neither of them said anything as they watched the slow change of colours painting the horizon and Tucker struggled to breathe through the panic that turned the air into a tangled mass of choking poison.

“We’re fucked,” Tucker finally said when orange hues stained everything in sight.

“Yuuuuup,” Church replied, dejection weighing down his voice. They didn’t look at each other, falling quiet again for another long moment.

“Fuck it,” Tucker said, pushing himself to his feet as panic twisted into a desperation that burned just beneath his skin.

“You gonna go see the lovebirds?” Church looked up at him and Tucker laughed, the gravity of their situation strangling the sound.

“Fuck no. I’m gonna go see Wash. Maybe he can’t help us directly but still–he’ll know what to do.” 

Church snorted but slowly climbed to his feet as well. “You coming?”

“You’re a big kid, you talk to your boyfriend on your own.”

Tucker gave him the middle finger even though Church kept staring straight ahead with an unfocused gaze.

“This is your problem too,” Tucker reminded him.

“I fucking realize,” Church snapped, offering Tucker a glare. Some of the fight went out of him, though, when Tucker started to bristle. “But everyone knows he likes you best. Even if you get into a shouting match, the asshole will still want to help if it’s you. Sides, I got someone else to see.”

“Gonna give Caboose a heads-up?” Tucker asked, stretching his wings as he gave Church a curious glance.

“Jesus Christ, no. We can’t tell him anything or he’ll spend all day everyday crying all over us.”

Tucker grimaced at the mental image before it softened into a sad frown. As irritating as Caboose could be, the thought of the seraph’s grief at them leaving permanently only made Tucker more desperate to find a solution to the entire mess.

“Alright, meet up at the base before midnight?” Tucker asked, and Church nodded. Tucker paused, hesitating as he stared at Church. Concerned questions about Church’s reaction to the news hovered on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t guess how likely Church was to bite off his helping hand in his current mood.

“You have any idea when the Reapers would have been watching us?” Tucker decided to ask, since the only Reaper he saw occasionally was Theta, and he couldn’t imagine the kid ever trying to banish anyone. As far as he knew, the only time he had run into a higher-ranking Reaper was when he went with Wash to York and North’s base during the last inter-base sleep-over.

Church didn’t look at him and just when Tucker opened his mouth to repeat the question, he answered.

“I saw the Director awhile back at the start of this assignment,” Church replied slowly. “I mouthed off to him a bit but I don’t see why the fuck that would make him do this.”

“You sure? Cuz I’m pretty sure everyone who’s ever talked to you has reported wanting to kill you five seconds in.”

When Church didn’t immediately snap back at him, something akin to dread curled around Tucker’s heart and clogged his throat. “Dude, you’re seriously starting to freak me out. You’re not thinking of just giving up, are you?”

“Fuck no,” Church said, though it lacked most of his usual heat and Tucker could see lies dancing in his friend’s eyes. For once, he didn’t have even the slightest clue as to what Church was lying _about_.

Tucker waited but Church didn’t say anything more.

“Okay good, cuz–” Tucker paused, the sincerity of his words making them tangle and catch in his throat. He shoved a hand angrily through his dreads and looked away as he continued. “It’d be pretty fucking boring not having your ugly mug yelling at me every day. And who’d want to give up these badass wings?”

“Walking _everywhere_ ,” Church said, and they both shuddered a little.

“You probably wouldn’t even remember how,” Tucker teased, and that finally earned him the familiar scowl he had been missing.

“Look who’s talking. You’d try and do a somersault and break your fucking face, jackass.”

Tucker stuck his tongue out at Church and he rolled his eyes. But a second later, Church climbed to his feet and gave his wings a stretch in the dry air.

“Don’t worry, asshole, I’m not letting you or the Reds win that easily. I’ve still got a title to defend.”

“You’ve _never_ been the one with the most completed assignments.”

“Neither have you! But Caboose and Wash would be helpless against the Reds without us here to bolster the scores.”

“Fuck, you’re right.” Tucker grinned. “Time to go kick ass then.”

“I’ll see you later,” Church said, and Tucker nodded.

He flew off toward Blue base, not bothering to check where Church headed. Creeping despair returned with the silence as Tucker flew further from Church’s company, and he gritted his teeth as he landed at the entrance of Blue base. Voices echoed down the hall and he hurried toward the common room and the source of noise.

A long exhale fell from his lips at the sight of Caboose and Wash hovering around the kitchen island. Circles of dough were spread out in front of both of them, tomato sauce covering Caboose’s hands and splattered across his tattooed cheeks. Wash remained relatively clean, continually looking up from his own homemade pizza to make sure Caboose wasn’t overloading his with too many toppings.

“Hey,” Tucker called from the doorway, and received two sincere smiles that made his chest ache.

“Tucker, you are just in time!” Caboose told him. He flung up his arm in excitement and Wash dove to the side to keep the jar of sauce from crashing to the ground. “Washington was just about to put pineapple everyone’s pizza!”

“He knows he’s dead if he defiles mine with that,” Tucker snorted, and Wash rolled his eyes.

“You’re missing out on an amazing experience,” Wash replied the exchange of words concerning pineapple on pizza as familiar as a lullaby.

Tucker shifted in the doorway and tried to shove away panic at the thought that he might not have a chance to hear this particular debate again after tonight. The panic simply retreated to a low simmer in his gut though, ready to boil over at a single second’s notice. “Hey, uh, can I talk to you, Wash? Alone?”

“Sure,” Wash replied, raising his eyebrows in question but not pressing the matter further in front of Caboose.

Tucker just turned on his heel and headed back outside, trusting Wash to follow. Cool, evening air greeted him, but did nothing to ease the knots that were beginning to twist inside Tucker’s too hot chest or soothe the frantic thoughts tearing off chunks of his grey matter in their panic. The conversation with Vic was starting to play over and over again in Tucker’s mind, and the terrifying possibility of the future loomed in front of him.

“Is everything okay?” Wash asked from behind Tucker, but Tucker suddenly found that he couldn’t turn around and face him. He shook his a head a little and took a deep breath, but the panic had become a wildfire, burning everything from his the nerves in his fingertips to the words screeching in his mind.

“Tucker?” Wash’s hand pressed lightly on his shoulder as he spoke his name, and Tucker focused on that singular point of comfort a long moment.

He drew in a few more deep breaths and then turned around, Wash’s hand falling away with the motion. Every part of Wash oozed concerned as he took a small step back to allow Tucker some breathing room. His presence didn’t instantly calm Tucker down, but the concerned gaze quelled some of the fearful flames and briefly carved out a space for words to form and slip from Tucker’s mouth.

“Church and I just had a talk with Vic,” Tucker told him, the dying light painting Wash’s worried face in dark hues and deep shadows. “Apparently some of the Reapers don’t think we’re doing a good enough job on our assignments. We have three weeks to complete our next assignments or we’ll be forced to be in reincarnated or go to the afterlife.”

Tucker watched Wash’s entire body go still in a single instant, expression freezing in a blank mask.

“Oh,” he replied, and then said nothing more.

“Oh?” Tucker repeated, voice going shrill with all the panic that Wash’s presence had muffled for a brief moment. “ _Oh_? I tell you that I only have three weeks to get the biggest, most oblivious, lovestruck _idiots_ I have ever been assigned to get together or I’ll have to leave–I’ll never get to see anyone here again–live some boring life in whatever fucking afterlife is waiting or get reincarnated into some shitshow–and all you have to say is _oh_? What the flying fuck, Wash! I thought you liked us now! I thought you’d be upset if we had to leave! What the fuck is that even supposed to mean? How–”

“Tucker!”

Tucker fell quiet in a second as Wash placed both hands on Tucker’s shoulders and gave them a firm squeeze. Stubborn determination seeped into the gaze he levelled directly at Tucker’s vibrating form. “Breathe.”

“Stop acting like this isn’t a big deal!” Tucker snapped, barely keeping his voice from creeping into a shout.

“I’m not acting like it isn’t a big deal, Tucker. But panicking isn’t going to help you or Church.”

His grip tightened on Tucker’s shoulders. “We’ll figure this out, alright? The two of you have been doing this for six years, and I’ve been doing it for even longer. We’ll get this done no problem, and you can both keep living here and being massive pains in my ass.”

“We’re not allowed to get help from you,” Tucker told him, though some of the tightness in his chest was easing. “Or Sarge.”

“That’s okay,” Wash said without a second of hesitation. “I know you can solve this. And even if I can’t directly help you with the assignment, I’m still here and I’m still supporting you as your friend. We all are.”

He offered Tucker a smile so full of unconditional affection and unflagging faith, Tucker couldn’t breathe for a second. “I believe in you, Tucker. Okay?”

Tucker nodded. His whole body slumped all at once as all his raging terror slipped away and the wildfire died instantly with the lack of fuel, leaving behind a cold hollowness in his chest with its sudden absence. Wash’s whole face softened and then he was pulling Tucker into a tight embrace. For half a second, Tucker’s brain short-circuited at the all-encompassing contact, and then he hugged back as desperation continued to chug through his veins.

“It will be okay,” Wash promised, and Tucker couldn’t say a word as his chin dug into Wash’s shoulder.

He settled for simply steadying his breathing while Wash curled his wings protectively around the both of them and held on in silence. The longer the hug lasted, the more Tucker melted into it until the only thing keeping him upright were the arms Wash locked around him.  

Tucker let his eyes fall shut for one moment as a single thought streaked across his mind like a shooting star, leaving only heavy darkness in its wake.

_I can’t lose this._

Then he opened his eyes and pushed away from Wash. Wash let him go without a word, though his wings brushed against Tucker’s shoulders as he moved back.

“Thanks,” Tucker said, trying not to sound awkward despite the way his cheeks suddenly felt too hot. “I’m good now, just–you know.”

“Come on,” Wash said, stretching out his wings and giving Tucker the kind of smile that promised he’d march through hell with him, “let’s go visit Junior.”

***

Church materialized in the middle of Tex’s apartment, chest heaving as Vic’s words echoed in his mind. Within three seconds his gaze found Tex where she stood by the kitchen island with her back turned to him. One hand held a knife as she chopped up a tomato, blonde hair loose and falling over her shoulder.

Church took a step toward her and the floorboard creaked. She turned at the sound, simple white tank top barely covering her cleavage.

“Still trying to sneak up on me?” she asked with a smirk. She wiped her hand on her jeans and turned slightly back toward her food. In another four long strides Church reached her, not saying a word as she twisted back toward him.

She opened her mouth but Church covered her lips with his own before she could get another word out. He wasted no time slipping his hands beneath the white fabric of her shirt, hands splaying over her warm skin. The edge of the counter dug into the small of her back as Church pressed against her, deepening the kiss only a second after their lips first touched.

One hand tangled in his black hair and Tex’s other clasped the back of his neck tightly so he couldn’t have ended the kiss even if he wanted to. Distantly he heard a clatter as the knife fell to the floor, but the way Tex suddenly moved her hips chased away any thoughts not concerning her body and the pleasure spiking through him.

“So dinner last,” Tex said when they finally broke apart. Both of them were breathing hard, and Church could barely think as he stared at her flushed face.

“We’re eating another meal first,” Church finally got out and Tex closed her eyes.

“Oh, Church, that was so bad,” she replied, but she closed the distance between them when she opened her eyes again.  He moved his hands to her hips as Tex placed hers on his shoulders and started moving them both toward the bed.

Neither one of them moved from Tex’s bed after they were both finished, sprawling on their backs on the soft surface with Church’s wings spread beneath them.

“So what did you do?” Tex asked, the first to break the silence that descended on them after they came.

“What do you mean?” Church said, staring up at the blank ceiling, wishing he could simply lay there for eternity.

“I know desperate sex, Church. The question is, what are you so desperate to forget?”

He finally looked over at her as she lifted her head to look him straight in the eye and he swallowed hard. “What did you fuck up?”

He reached out a shaking hand to brush strands of hair out of her face and she kept studying him. The past didn’t hang off her every limb that night, staying quiet and leaving her outline clear to see in the present moment. He had found that physical contact usually cut off the voices of the past no matter how loud they were, and the warmth of Tex’s tangible skin bled into Church’s fingertips.

He rolled onto his side and she did the same, propping her head up and looking at him. Her other hand traced idle patterns in the feathers of the wing pinned beneath her, and all the air left him in one long sigh.

“You remember that Reaper that showed up when you crashed?” he finally said, unable to stop himself from shuddering a little at the mention of the Director. Tex nodded and Church wanted to kiss her for appearing so unruffled. “Well turns out he doesn’t think Tucker and I are doing a good enough job as love angels.”

“But he’s a Reaper,” Tex said with a slight frown, and Church almost laughed at the way she echoed Tucker’s earlier sentiment.

“He used to be a love angel,” Church told her. “And that’s not really important. He made a complaint, our boss is worried, and now we have three weeks to finish our current assignment or we get reincarnated.”

“They can _make you_ be reincarnated?”

“They’re fucking not supposed to. They’re not supposed to send us to the afterlife either unless we’re ready, but if they think we’re hurting humans because we’re doing a shitty job then they can do whatever the fuck they want.”

Church gave her a bitter smile. “Love angels are pretty fucking low on the whole angel totem pole.”

Tex stayed quiet for a moment, gaze shifting down to his wings as she started drawing figure eights across the surface of the feathers with the tip of her finger.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” she asked, looking back up at him as she spoke.

“I don’t know.”

The truth slipped out before Church could stop it, but he was too tired for a lie, especially when Tex would see through it right away. “My assignment–I don’t fucking know if I’d be able to get them together within a year, let alone three fucking weeks.”

He had finally gotten Doyle and Kimball to start treating each other with a modicum of politeness in person, and they were even kinder to each other when only communicating through emails. The body of the emails still remained fairly formal and sometimes abrasive, but a couple weeks ago Church had managed to convince Doyle to add a “PS” line with a link to a recipe of a bizarrely unique flavour combination that reminded him of Kimball. She responded with a link to an article about the Blue Jays’ chances in the playoffs, and from there, in every email they each put a link to some funny video or online article as well as a comment about the previous one.

But they still argued and shouted at each other over the phone and in person, the possibility of friendship alone sometimes seeming to be just around the corner, while at other times it seemed galaxies away. It was one of the weirdest fucking relationships Church had ever witnessed, and that was including the one he had with Tex.

“What’s wrong with it?” Tex asked, letting her head fall back down onto the pillow as Church snorted.

“ _Everything_. They can’t say one word in person without pissing the other off and Kimball acts like every time Doyle opens his mouth he’s gonna confess to–to killing a bunch of puppies or some shit, and Doyle acts like–”

“Kimball?” Tex interrupted, curiosity seeping into her voice despite the calm of her expression. “Vanessa Kimball? And Donald Doyle?”

“Those are the two assholes.”

“You’re trying to get _them_ together?”

“They like each other!” Church snapped. “Or, they fucking could if they would stop thinking the other was gonna stab them in the back for one fucking second. And I mean, they both disagree about baking styles but they’ve realized the other _can_ bake. Kimball thought the stuff she tried the other day that Doyle made was heavenly, and they’ll send each other funny shit now, and they could spend an entire day just drinking shitty beer and watching that fucking baseball team lose together if they would just sit down and give it a chance!”

“You sound angry,” Tex said, and Church gaped at her.

“What kind of–of course I’m angry! They’re being idiots!”

“No, Church.” Something in her gaze made Church want to look away but he could no sooner look away from her as he could rip off his own wings. “I don’t mean your usual snappishness or frustration over someone else’s idiocy. I mean you sound _furious,_ like they’ve done something to personally offend you. To hurt you.”

He opened his mouth but found all of his words dried up. Not even the simple words _you’re wrong_ would form, choking him when he tried to force them out. Tex just kept staring at him like she would wait forever for his answer, as if she wasn’t the same woman who’d put him a chokehold just the other day because he wouldn’t immediately tell her what Connie whispered to him.

“They have a chance,” he said, the words slipping from his lips before his brain could consider how messy and pathetic the truth would sound once verbalized. “They have a chance at something fucking amazing if they would just stop looking at all the ways they could get hurt and look at _each other_.”

He swallowed and Tex curled a hand in his feathers, the momentary squeeze of pain anchoring him. “It could be so good for the both of them and a lot of people don’t even get that chance and they’re fucking it all up just because they’re scared of a little pain.”

Tex snorted at that and flicked him in the forehead. He scowled at her but didn’t move away from her.

“I think a broken heart is a bit more than ‘a little pain.’”

“They wouldn’t break each other’s hearts,” Church insisted. “Or, they wouldn’t if they just fucking accepted that they’ve already given away some of their heart.”

He reached out to poke her in the chest despite the danger to his arm, but she just shoved it away after the contact. “Sides, I know you think it’s dumb too. You don’t even know what fear is.”

“I don’t know if you somehow missed this, but I _am_ human, Church.”

The softness of her voice stole any vitriol the sentence might have held, and Church stared at the serious twist to her lips. She mirrored his action of a poke to the chest a second later, hers with much more force than Church could ever manage. “And obviously a part of you is too if you’re jealous of them for having something you lack.”

“As if,” Church said, the conversation stirring up old whispers and a suffocating weight he  could vaguely remember once feeling when still human. “I’m just mad they’re making life so difficult. Love is fucking overrated anyways.”

“Says the love angel,” she replied, rolling her eyes at him.

Yet she didn’t protest when he silenced both of them with a kiss.

***

They materialized in the middle of a park streaked with the day’s dying light. The cool air ruffled their hair, the distant sound of traffic carried along the breeze. Only one lone figure still played in the park, the tightness in Tucker’s chest easing the second he spotted the small boy kneeling in the sand with his teeth worrying his bottom teeth as he shoved aside handfuls of sand.

Tucker moved down the gravel pathway toward the sandbox, ignoring the empty benches he passed and the shiny playground equipment looming beyond the pen of sand. He stopped just at the wooden edge with Wash coming to a halt right behind his shoulder.

“Hey, Junior,” Tucker said, swallowing down all emotions but affection when he spoke.

The small boy’s head shot up at the sound of his name, and he pushed up the green dinosaur hat that slipped over his mess of thick, black curls into his face at the motion. His gaze darted around for a few seconds before landing on Tucker’s form.

A grin broke out across Junior’s face and he straightened in one sharp motion. With only a second’s pause, he began to sign his greeting and explain the mound of sand he was shaping with his hands.

“Sounds like a wicked idea, Junior,” Tucker said with a grin he didn’t have to force. The boy cocked his head to the side briefly at Tucker’s words and Tucker noted the miniscule pause between the end of his sentence and Junior’s reply. Small, but larger than the last time Tucker visited Junior.

Tucker knelt down in the sand beside Junior as he began shaping the sand once more in the approximation of a tower. He paused every few seconds to explain his actions to Tucker or ask Tucker’s opinion, and the love angel happily responded to everything.

Wash simply watched over them for the most part, Junior’s grin growing even brighter after a puzzled moment when Wash first offered a suggestion. After that, Wash knelt on the other side of Junior, neither of them able to actually mold the sand themselves. Yet Junior remained unbothered by this fact, content simply to have the two there and talk to them.

The longer they stayed with the boy, the more relaxed Tucker’s body became, until the last of his panic slipped off him and into the sand beneath them. He lost himself in Junior’s happiness and the warmth of the ground beneath them, mind zoning in on the details Junior provided him and forcing all other thoughts out of mind. Every so often Tucker would glance up and catch Wash’s gaze, and the tranquility suffusing through Tucker’s veins only grew even headier at the reminder of Wash’s steady presence.

For a long time nothing could disturb the peace the three of them carved out in the small public space around them; not the night growing deeper around them, not the ghosts of Wash’s past, and not the doubts of Tucker’s future.

A woman Tucker recognized as Junior’s mom eventually appeared on the park pathway and called for Junior to come home. Junior gave both Tucker and Wash a hug, arms wrapping around their necks tightly before he dashed off to his mom’s side. The love angels stood to watch him go, and the silence stretched for a long moment after Junior disappeared from sight.

“It’s getting harder for him to see us, isn’t it,” Tucker said quietly.

“I think so,” Wash said, voice just as low as Tucker’s.

When Tucker glanced at him, he couldn’t tell how much of the sadness was for Tucker’s sake and how much was Wash’s own grief at the thought of losing contact with the child. Tucker had been the first of the Reds and Blues to meet the now nine year old boy, back when the child was only seven years old and had no one to play with at the park. Tucker had started talking to him when he was bored watching an assignment, completely forgetting about the couple he was supposed to be supervising when the child replied and then fell over in his excited attempt to grab at Tucker’s wings.

Junior had shown no fear then or any time after, eagerness for a new friend giving him confidence and the innocence of youth granting him boldness. All the Reds and Blues had met him over the course of time, and Wash had been fond of him since the moment Tucker first introduced them.

Tucker looked back toward the direction Junior and his mom had disappeared. Those with lower psychic abilities needed endless practice and belief in their power to keep their ability from growing dormant in adulthood. In childhood it was effortless, just one of the many muscles that could be commanded without conscious thought. But it was a muscle that could easily be forgotten or fall out of usage with the passage of time. Junior already seemed less and less capable of hearing and seeing them clearly each time Tucker visited, and Tucker didn’t think only his visits alone were enough to keep Junior in touch with his abilities.

“That doesn’t mean you have to stop visiting,” Wash added, and Tucker shot him a smile.

“I know.” Tucker stretched his wings as far as they could go for one brief moment while the stars started to shine above them. Then he bumped his shoulder against Wash’s and let all his usual cockiness mask any returning fears. “Come on, I need some serious sleep if I’m gonna get these lovesick assholes together soon.”

Wash nodded and the two took to the sky together, Tucker glancing down one last time at the ground before they shot through the abyss.

One day Junior might not respond.

One day he might forget.

But Tucker would never let anything stop him from watching over him, Reapers be damned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how long this took, everybody! Family vacation and last minute preparations for con cosplays left very little time for writing. I'm hoping to get the chapters out sooner now, especially since we are officially starting the second half of this. Thank you for all of your kudos, comments, and patience!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "& so what – if my feathers  
> are burning. I  
> never asked for flight."  
> (Ocean Vuong, from “Devotion,” Night Sky with Exit Wounds)

**20 days until deadline**

“I really don’t think this is the best idea.”

The loud music and a particularly violent collision of cue balls nearly drowned out Doyle’s words. His hands toyed endlessly with the corner of his menu as he said them, and he pressed himself against the cushioned backrest of the booth as if hoping he could disappear into it.

“Stop being such a worrywart,” his friend, Emily Grey, said from the other side of the booth. In comparison to Doyle’s tense posture, she looked as relaxed as one on the sunny beach of a resort. She was already sipping on an extremely colourful and fruity mixed drink. “You know what it does to cholesterol levels!”

“You can say that because you’ve never met her.”

“Exactly! You’ve been talking about her for weeks and weeks and you still haven’t introduced me.”

Church snorted at Grey’s determined enthusiasm and Doyle’s obvious distress.

“Yeah, if you were trying to make a good impression, maybe you shouldn’t have done this so last minute,” Church told them from where he perched on the end of the bench Doyle sat on.

The outing a week before Kimball and Doyle’s joint catering event in order to celebrate said partnership had been suggested by Grey just the other night. The only hint at the source of inspiration she gave Doyle was simply that another friend had been talking about celebrating work achievements. That, paired with Grey’s boundless curiosity, resulted in her making a last minute request and then sitting beside Doyle while he phoned Kimball to ensure he actually extended the invitation and she said yes.

Church would have been more suspicious of the whole thing if he wasn’t so relieved about the two finally having an informal get-together that would hopefully last longer than five minutes.

“She’s late,” Doyle said, glancing around the sports bar and grill Grey chose for the outing.

Given both Doyle and Kimball’s love of baseball and the supply of cheap beer the place boasted, Church couldn’t have chosen a better venue himself. There was even a Blue Jays game playing on several of the TVs planted above the bar and on the wooden columns throughout the dining area.

“Only ten minutes,” Grey replied cheerfully. “She’s probably stuck in traffic.”

“Or she could be at home getting ready to call and cancel.” Doyle looked down at his menu with a frown and Church would have rolled his eyes at how miserable that simple thought made Doyle if the man hadn’t spent the last week shouting at Kimball over sugar proportions.

Grey did roll her eyes and simply took another drink instead of engaging with Doyle’s pessimism.

“Doyle?”

Doyle and Church both startled at the sudden sound of Kimball’s hesitant voice. She stood at the end of their table, glancing between the flustered Doyle and the beaming Grey.

“Ah, Kimball, you made it,” Doyle said as Grey scooted further down her bench so Kimball could take a seat beside her.

“Yes, sorry, I got stuck in traffic,” she replied in the tone of someone who had in fact been contemplating cancelling the whole thing and staying home. She unwound her glittering blue scarf and stuffed it into the purse she placed on the bench beside her as the other two watched intently. “So, have you ordered?”

“We were waiting for you,” Grey assured her, and then stuck out a hand. “Emily Grey, pleased to meet you.”

“Vanessa Kimball.” They shook hands and Church began carefully monitoring both of his assignees’ mental state. “You’re Doyle’s friend, right?”

“Since high school in our small hick hometown,” Grey said, and Doyle shuddered a little at the memory. “And you’re his new business partner. He’s told me lots about you!”

A server appeared at the table before Kimball could ask exactly what Doyle had told her. There was a few minutes of awkward conversation as the trio decided on appetizers to share and which pitcher of beer to order. The pleasant surprise both Kimball and Doyle experienced at agreeing to order a big pitcher of the cheapest draft just made Church want to punch them more. Once the server left with their orders, silence descended upon the group. For a few minutes they all simply leafed through the menu, but as the seconds continued to tick by with only the upbeat music and strangers’ laughter filling the air between them, the lack of words pressed uncomfortably on their shoulders.

“So, Kimball,” Grey said, shooting Doyle an unimpressed look but smiling when she turned her attention to Kimball. “How did you get into the bakery business? Doyle never did say.” 

“It’s a family business,” Kimball replied, after a moment. She and Doyle finally looked up from their menus at the question and Church did his best to gently prod the answers from her. “We’ve owned the bakery since my great, great-grandparents. My older brother, Anthony, was going to take over but he died of cancer when I was in university, and my other brother went into law.”

“I’m sorry,” Doyle said quietly, and Church didn’t have to force Kimball to focus on the sincerity shining in his eyes and dripping from his voice.

“It’s alright.” The server returned with their pitcher at that moment and conversation died for a moment as they passed around cups. They all put in their orders while Grey poured beer into each of their cups.

“So a family business,” Grey piped up the second the server left. “Just like Doyle then.”

“Really?” Kimball turned her gaze to Doyle whose face reddened slightly under the sudden genuine interest.

“My grandmother owned it before me,” he told her. “She was always hoping we would move to the city and take it over for her. I have two older sisters but they both had other career aspirations and I always loved baking.” 

He took a sip of his beer and shook his head with a small smile tugging at his lips. “Absolute terrors the both of them.”

“He only says that because they still have hilarious photos of him from his teeball years,” Grey mock whispered to Kimball. “Actually, I should still have some on my phone!”

“Emily!”

Church laughed as Grey ignored Doyle’s protests and started digging through her purple clutch for her phone. She pulled it out with a triumphant declaration and Doyle quickly tried to reach across the table and grab it.

“Come now, Emily, I have a reputation to uphold,” Doyle pleaded as Grey kept the phone out of his grasp. She simply grinned at him and handed the phone to the curious Kimball.

“During business hours maybe, but not with us.”

“Kimball _is_ a business partner and I’m sure–”

Kimball’s sudden laughter cut everyone off and they all turned to stare at her. Amusement danced in the eyes glued to the phone screen and one of her hands covered her smiling mouth. The sudden noise surprised all of them, even Kimball, but Church refused to let her silence herself. Grey shot Doyle a smug look and Church couldn’t help but grin at the way Kimball’s laughter left Doyle utterly and hopelessly stunned. Every thought inside him screeched to a complete standstill and all the other noises of the bar fell away until the only thing left in Doyle’s inner and outer bubble was Kimball.

“You look like a complete dork,” Kimball finally got out as she handed the phone back to Grey. With a little push from Church and a recognition of the small glimpse of childhood innocence she’d been graciously granted, she added, “But a very cute one.”

“Oh god, I’m finally witnessing a miracle,” Church said, tilting his head to the ceiling briefly.

Tentative happiness oozed through Doyle and Kimball’s limbs like the beer they were consuming, and Doyle offered Kimball a hesitant smile at her words.

“I was absolutely dreadful, as I’m sure comes as no surprise. Kept hitting the tee, and the helmets were too big for me. They kept knocking my glasses and falling into my face. Though that never stopped me from dreaming of entering the big leagues.”

“You wanted to be a baseball player?” For once, Church could find no judgement in Kimball’s thoughts or her voice. She simply studied Doyle with an air of sincere curiosity while he tapped his fingers lightly on his cup of beer.

“Oh yes,” he said. “For quite a while. Mostly I was just desperate to get out of my small town, but I really loved the sport too. My sisters teased me quite relentlessly for it.”

“Older siblings tend to do that,” Kimball replied.

Her tone edged on teasing even as a part of her continued to exercise caution, ready to shut down the conversation at a second’s notice. Doyle’s responding chuckle eased some of the tension and Church refused to let her ignore the way his smile made her breath catch for the smallest of moments.

“Can I assume that there are several pictures of you in much too big hats thanks to your older brothers?”

Church smirked, and when Kimball hesitated, he forced her attention to the remnants of vulnerability that still softened Doyle’s face after sharing his childhood dreams with her.

“I’m sure there’s some pictures of me as a toddler eating mud somewhere, but I keep them on very careful lock-down.”

“I have tried valiantly to do the same, but there’s been no locking down any secrets since Emily met the two of them.”

“You should meet them,” Emily told Kimball. She leaned against the back of the booth with her hands in her lap in the perfect picture of nonchalance, but her gaze moved sharply from baker to baker as they talked. “They’d absolutely adore you.”

“Have mercy, Emily.”

“Josephine’s visiting next week after the catering event, isn’t she? You could meet her then!”

“It would be a good opportunity to gain lots of blackmail,” Kimball said, but there was a light tone to her voice that was a stark contrast to the usual derision that laced through their voices when they shouted at each other. Church would have believed they had been friends for years, joking in a manner like he and Tucker or Tucker and Wash, if not for all of the fighting he had been forced to witness.

“I regret ever introducing the two of you,” Doyle told both women, but just like Kimball, there was a light tone running underneath every word that kept the words from holding any negativity.

Their appetizers arrived at that moment, but this time the interruption didn’t result in immediate, awkward silence. The topic of older siblings and their mutual feelings toward the topic helped spur conversation further until it began to expand and morph with each passing minute. The longer the three talked, the easier they leapt from subject to subject without needing to pause or rewind. Church managed to keep a constant eye on their mental state without being overwhelmed, and he didn’t need to go beyond gentle prodding. Anytime one of them started to withdraw or get irritated, Church simply needed to bring to mind the immediate conversation they had just shared, proving to them that the other person was more than capable of being soft and sincere and inspired.

By the time their food arrived, neither Doyle nor Kimball wanted to flee home or regretted coming out. Even when arguments broke out, they weren’t nearly as aggressive or nasty as those Church had witnessed in the past, Grey breaking them up with her laughter or own teasing comments. Soon, Church could relax himself and simply stare at the food longingly as eating became the accessory to their conversation.

By the time the server returned to ask if any of them wanted dessert, three pitchers of beer had been consumed and three hours gone by. They all turned down the menu but continued to linger in the booths.

“Even if I wasn’t full, I can’t eat any other cookies without being extremely disappointed after Doyle gave me your peanut butter ones,” Grey told Kimball with a grin, causing Doyle to choke a little on the last dregs of his beer.

Kimball shot him an amused look at the revelation even though her mood dipped the second the last words left Grey’s mouth. Church straightened in his chair, focusing all of his attention on Kimball’s inner state with a frown. A pause stretched between them as Church let out a small expletive at the thoughts swirling in Kimball’s mind and the hesitant desire to make them verbal.

“He’s not your enemy,” Church told her, and worked on making that thought as clear as possible in her mind. “He’s not gonna fuck you over with anything you share.”

Another second ticked by as Church gingerly peeled away the distrust with reminders of all the good moments and genuine connection she just shared with Doyle. He pushed the recent memories of Grey’s friendly cheer to the forefront of Kimball’s mind for extra reassurance.

“I’m glad you like them,” Kimball told them, carefully molding her face into a small smile and forcing her voice to stay steady. “They were Anthony’s favourite treat ,so it’s one of the few classic recipes I don’t experiment with.”

Grey’s mouth parted in a small _o,_ and a thousand thoughts clicked together in Doyle’s mind as he stared at Kimball. This was not the first time Kimball had shared the information with other people, but just like every time before, an ache flared up in her chest as if the words pressed on a bruise that had never fully healed.

“Well I admittedly haven’t tried those ones in particular,” Doyle said. “But if they’re anything like the rest of your baking, I’m sure your brother would find them absolutely divine.”

He offered her the softest smile he could muster and pushed down the urge to fidget as Kimball stared.

“Thank you,” Kimball said after a moment, and Church let go of the breath he had been holding.

Doyle’s phone went off before anyone could say anything else, and Grey offered him a mock glare.

“No reading at the dinner table,” she told him as he glanced down at his phone screen.

“Excuse me one moment,” he said, and slid out of the booth.

The women simply started a new conversation as he headed toward the entrance with Church following him. Tucked away near the stairs to the second floor and out of the way of anyone else, he quickly read through the email he’d just received. Church peered over his should to read, the contents he could see and the way Doyle’s thoughts froze causing dread to curl around his lungs. 

_Dear Mr. Doyle,_ the email began, _we are emailing about a job position in_ –

“Oh fuck no!” Church told him as Doyle continued to read through the details of a teaching position in a cuisine school three provinces away. “You are not accepting that. It’s halfway across the fucking country and you don’t fucking need it!”

Doyle glanced across the room where Grey and Kimball were now laughing together in the dim light of the restaurant, gaze lingering on Kimball through the crowds of people.

“Exactly,” Church snapped. “You just had a great fucking time, you’ve got a good chance with her, your business is perfectly fucking successful somehow, do not be a little bitch and ruin this!”

Another moment ticked by as Church used every bit of his energy to try and shut down Doyle’s shocked consideration. All attempts at gentle pokes and prods were off, Church shoving and tearing at the thoughts now despite the inner turmoil it might cause Doyle.

A moment later Doyle shook his head and finally exited the email. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, took a deep breath, and then headed back to the booth. When they asked about the email, he waved away the questions with a vague explanation about it being work-related. The others accepted it easily enough and the conversation continued.

But Church stayed perched on his seat for the rest of the night, unable to relax as he had before knowing that Doyle hadn’t outright deleted the email.

***

**19 days until deadline**

Church’s head was starting to throb when he visited Tex’s apartment that night. He arrived when she was in the middle of making dinner, no longer hesitating to head straight for the couch and lounge on it. She always made a comment about his lack of help even though the one time he tried to help cook she shoved him out after five minutes and complained about feathers getting everywhere. From then on, his task was confined to occasionally passing her ingredients and providing commentary while she cooked.

He rested his arms along the backrest of the couch and watched her move about the small space of the kitchen. Some bad cop show Tex, Connie, and South liked to watch to make fun of its inaccuracies was playing on the TV, but the volume was so low Church could barely hear it. The past remained quiet as well, but the lack of whispers triggered unease rather than comfort. Throughout the week there were whispers, but always indistinct like the people talking were huddled just around the corner. When Church tried to concentrate on them, they slipped away, leaving behind only a shaky feeling of trepidation.   

He let his chin drop onto his arms as his head grew heavy, as if there were dense storm clouds building bigger and bigger inside his brain, straining against the confines of his skull.

The shrill sound of Tex’s cellphone pierced the air from beside Church and he nearly fell right off the couch.

“Toss it,” Tex called without even looking over. She turned slightly as Church fumbled to grab the ringing device and threw it through the air to her.

Church climbed to his feet and wandered into the empty space between the three separate areas of her living space as she answered the phone.

“Making dinner,” she told the person on the end. She leaned her hip against the kitchen counter while the person on the other end spoke. “Uh-huh. You’re fucking kidding.”

Church stretched his wings while she talked, but the action made his entire body feel tighter rather than ease whatever tension was coiling through him. “Nope, but maybe Saturday. Yeah, try not to be too hung-over tomorrow.”

She placed the phone on the counter and Church shot her a questioning look. “Work people are going to the bar tonight, wanted to know if I was coming.”

“You turned down the chance for booze _and_ sex with random men?” Church replied, ignoring the little burn of jealousy in his chest that always flared up at the reminder of Tex’s other sexual escapades. “I don’t know if I should be worried or impressed.”

Instead of mocking him back, she gave him an unreadable look that killed any other words on his tongue.

“You’re already here,” she pointed out, and Church snorted.

“Like that would stop you.”

She smirked a little at that, taking a few steps to lean against the kitchen island so they stood directly across from each other. The smugness faded a little as she studied him for a moment in silence, and Church tried not to fidget under the sudden intensity. He had no idea what she was looking for, but she spoke with a shrug before he could ask.

“’Sides, I haven’t felt like sleeping with anyone there in weeks.”

“Wait, what?” Church said, eyes widening a little at that revelation. “Since when?”

“I just told you, weeks.”

“Oh wow, thanks, Tex, very specific.”

“Why does the specific timing matter?” He could see the amusement dancing in her eyes while he struggled to think of a reply that wouldn’t make him sound pathetic or too emotional. She just waited, and Church glared at her.

“You–” He couldn’t finish, and her laughter cut off any attempts. He shook his head and tried to keep the scowl on his face, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.

She stood there looking at him, smirking, and she was so goddamn beautiful he could barely breathe. But a headache kept building beneath his eyes and she looked at him expectantly once her amusement died down and he _–_

_She’s just standing there, hands on her hips as she waits for his answer, and his head throbs with an exhausted pain._

Church fell to his knees on Tex’s hard wooden floor as the memories ripped through his mind without any warning.  

_“You’re the clingiest, neediest boyfriend I’ve ever had, but it’s been two years and you can’t even say I love you–you can’t give me any emotional vulnerability whatsoever!”_

_She’s shouting the words at him, making them stick like glass shards in the grey matter of his brain and gouging out deep divots nothing will fill._

Hands grabbed at his shoulders and kept him from falling flat onto his face.

_The explosion has been building for days, weeks, months, maybe even since the first day he saw her face two whole years ago. He can stop it no more than he can stop an earthquake, but he clings to the potential of minimizing the damage to himself despite the destruction it will cause her._

“What’s happening, Church?”

_“Maybe you’re just a needy pissbaby making up problems for no reason.”_

_He flings the words at her as hard as he can, climbing to his unsteady feet, meeting her gaze head on as the words find their mark._

Someone groaned from far away, and the hands on his shoulders tightened.

_But he’s miscalculated, she’s covering the pain faster than he expected and it’s rage twisting her face and a cold acceptance hardening her eyes._

Cold from the hardwood floor seeped into Church’s knees, but all other physical sensations were slipping away beneath the weight of the past.

_“See, you can’t even have a fucking conversation about it without attacking me for trying.”_

_“I’m not_ attacking– _”_

_“Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you, Leonard?”_

“What’s wrong, Church?”

_“This is just who I fucking am and if you can’t deal with it then I’m fucking done.”_

_She laughs, hysterical and crueler than he’s ever heard, and he turns away at that as if she slapped him._

“Church, come on, say something.”

_“_ You’re _fucking done?” she snarls at him, and he heads to the door._

_“That’s fucking right,” he shouts back at her, “So excuse me while I get away from your crazy ass and go home!”_

_Always wanting the last word, but once more failing as she just screams after him,_

_“You’re going to fucking hell, that’s where! So don’t you dare come crawling back to me if you leave now.”_

_And then he’s walking away, walking out onto the street, into the cold air and noise of the city. He’s walking away, and he only makes it four blocks before a car runs a red and slams right into him._

Some of the blurriness of his vision faded for a moment and Church managed to tilt his head upward to meet Tex’s gaze. She knelt directly in front of him, strong hands keeping him in place and eyes wide in her pale face.

“I remember,” Church whispered, throat dry and voice cracking.

“Remember what?”

Instead of answering, he simply wrapped his arms around her body and then clung as hard as he could. She hugged him back after a single shocked moment in which he thought she might just push him away. She whispered something but he couldn’t make it out and he couldn’t respond verbally.

For the memories still needed to settle and they tore through him again and again as they did. Every single one from his past life, triggered by the remembrance of the final puzzle piece, flowed through him and scratched at each other like a herd of angry cats as they tried to make room for themselves in his aching head. And every single one of them always ended with a remembrance of his death because now he understood _why_ he’d become a love angel, he understood–

_He’s screaming from pain and he’s screaming from fear and then he’s screaming for forgiveness, screaming for a second chance, not for himself but for_ her _. He’s screaming that he can’t die, not now, not like this, for he’ll be leaving with the lingering ghost of poisonous words rather than a kiss on his lips. If he leaves now there will be no reconciliation, no understanding, no moving on, only anger and resentment and grief and self-loathing and–_

All over again he was shaking.

Screaming.

Crying.

Dying.

_His head is down, hands shoved into the jeans of his pocket, and nothing but anger exists for him, the noise of all the traffic and people an incoherent din building on the other side of a veil. Only her words and his replies exist, his feet pounding against the pavement in time to the beat of each syllable as he crosses the road._

_There’s no warning noise and then he’s soaring through the weightless air for only a second before his entire world becomes one stabbing pain. His bones crack, his skin breaks apart, and he’s screaming where he’s crumpled on his side._

His body went slack and he started to slip downward, but a warm body kept him from falling to the floor.

_The ground is cold and hard and his blood is painting the dull grey of the pavement without his permission, and his hands won’t move to press against the wound._

There were arms locked around him and strong hands holding his own shaking ones.

_The noise comes a second later, all of the frantic screeching of brakes and slamming of doors and shouting of pedestrians coupled with his own delirious swearing and screaming._

“Just keep breathing with me, Church. In and out, simple enough even for you.”

_There’s a man in a charcoal suit towering above all the rest, staring at Church while the others are yelling, calm where the others are frantic, and cold where the others are warm. Nobody notices as he comes to crouch right at Church’s broken head to meet his gaze, and suddenly the only person Church wants near him is_ her _._

He shoved his face against Tex’s stomach as if that could stop the pain. She couldn’t have been comfortable with him sprawled across her knees and the ground while she knelt, but she didn’t move. 

_“It’s time,” the man says, and Church understands the meaning of the statement even though he’s never seen the man before, never seen any angelic entity in his life or heard anything about the strange mix of afterlives waiting for him._

_“No no no, please God, no, please I don’t want to go, I don’t want to go–”_

_His own pain cuts off his blubbering momentarily and there’s not even a shred of pity in the man’s eyes._

He screamed with the past, hands scrabbling to dig into his head and rip out the memories by force, but Tex’s hands were locked around his and they refused to let him hurt himself.

_The man reaches behind him to take off the suitcase strapped across his back, hands glowing blue with the motion. Church wants to crawl, wants to scream, wants to beg one of the strangers around him to get the man away from him, but he can do nothing but address desperate words to the man so determined to take him away._

_“No no, please no, this isn’t fair, this isn’t_ – _please. Please not yet. Not_ – _”_

“Make it stop,” Church whimpered, and one of Tex’s hands moved to press against his burning forehead. She pushed back his hair and he tried to make his unresponsive limbs press even closer to her.

_“Death is never about fairness,” the man says as Church tries and fails to move as far away from the man as he can. Trying only makes his bones grind further, sticking out of his skin and making him nearly black-out from pain. “It simply is.”_

_“Please,” Church begs because he has no shame left when he is bleeding and broken and alone. “I can’t–you can’t fucking do this–I can’t fucking leave–not now–not her–not–”_

“I’m sorry,” Church whispered.

_They will tell her what happened and she will curse his name, she will scream at them to get out, scream at him for being a selfish dick until the last possible second, and then she will cry. When there is no one else watching, when she is completely and utterly alone, she will cry and swear and sob and scream some more. She will_ break _and she will rebuild herself after, drag the shattered pieces back into some semblance of a functional heart, a functional person, but that doesn’t mean she won’t feel pain first. She is more capable than Church of moving on, of moving forward without the people she loves, but that doesn’t mean she should go through the agony that comes with shoving one’s life back together._

The phone started ringing again but Tex didn’t move and the ringtone echoed endlessly.

_“She doesn’t deserve this kind of goodbye,” Church manages to say as the man snaps open the briefcase he places on the bloody ground. The sound of sirens can be heard in the distance but the man is only inches from Church and the ambulance miles away._

_For the first and only time, something flickers in the man’s expression. His one hand tightens around the lid of the briefcase, but when he meets Church’s gaze again, his eyes have gone even colder._

_“No one cares,” the man says before closing his hand around Church’s wrist and dragging him into nothingness._

Church woke to darkness and the nighttime sounds of the city. For a long moment he could only blink away the grogginess as he tried to piece together where he was. A soft light from the streetlights outside filtered through the open window, allowing Church to glimpse the outlines of the room after his eyes adjusted.

He was in Tex’s bed, lying on his side with his wings hanging listlessly behind him. One of his arms wrapped around Tex’s waist beneath the blanket over them, her back to him. No solid memory provided him with an answer of how they got into that position. All he could recall were fragments of Tex’s voice and her hands on him.

Church moved his arm off her to press his hand to his pounding head, and she shifted beside him. In the blink of an eye, she reached out to turn on the bedside lamp on her side and then twisted around to face him. He winced at the sudden light as she propped herself up on her elbow to study him. 

“Hey.” Church had never heard her sound so relieved before. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his eyes and tried to lighten the tone of his hoarse voice when he spoke again. “Scared?”

“Scared I was gonna have to waste time disposing an angel body.”

“Wow thanks.” His head flopped back down on the pillow and he closed his eyes. His head was still spinning and he stretched one wing, Tex smoothing down the feathers at the base of his wing when it came into her reach. Church shuddered and the bed creaked as Tex shifted closer so she could keep running a hand through his feathers while she hummed softly.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Church muttered, bones melting and becoming weightless as Tex continued to stroke his wings. “I’m just–m’just really tired.”

“You gonna tell me what happened at some point?”

“Remembered.” He rubbed at his eyes and forced his brain to form words, for Tex at least deserved to know. “I remembered why I became a love angel. I remembered the girl I fucked over.”

“Did she die?” Tex asked, and he cracked his eyes open just the smallest amount at the way the night softened all of their words.

“No. No she–we fought and then I died but she’s still alive I think. Should be, anyways.”

“Do you want to find her?” Her voice stayed steady, but he heard the barest undercurrent of jealousy and the hand in his feathers twitched briefly.

“I just want to rest right now,” he replied, but couldn’t quite laugh like he wanted to. “No. There’s no point now.”

He closed his eyes, slipping closer and closer to blissful sleep as Tex stayed quiet for a long moment.

“Okay,” she finally said, so soft Church barely heard her.

There was a small clicking noise and then the bed creaked when she eased back down beside him. The arm sprawled across his waist and the hand resting on his wing remained a comforting weight. “You just rest now.”

***

**16 days until deadline**

“Hey, Tucker.”

Tucker startled a little at the sound of North’s cheerful voice, twisting slightly as the seraph stepped up beside him. They stood in the police station, Tucker leaning against Grif and Simmons’ joined desks as they worked. The clock on the far, grey wall ticked steadily closer to the end of the workday, and he impatiently waited for his two charges to leave the building so he could get to work on their confessions in a more private place.

“Hey, North,” Tucker greeted him. He hadn’t seen the seraph in the station since Connie got injured and had to stay home from work. “What are you doing here?”

“Saying hi to Tex,” North said, and waved at the blonde woman sitting across from Connie’s empty seat. “Connie wanted me to come to dinner with her and South after work but Tex couldn’t come so I wanted to talk to her first.”

“But Tex–” Tucker followed North’s gaze and watched Tex lift her head slightly at the sound of their voices. She offered North the slightest of smiles and then turned to look directly at Tucker. “She can _see us_?”

“She still hadn’t told you?” North asked without sounding surprised, and Tucker saw the smile on Tex’s face ease into a smirk.

“No, she didn’t fucking tell me! For how long?”

“Since her motorcycle accident.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“She didn’t know if we were real or not,” North assured him, but Tucker kept glaring at the woman.

“She’s been listening to me freak out for months!” Tucker said, trying to stare her down as he did. She didn’t look very impressed by anything he said, simply rolling her eyes and turning her attention back to the computer on her desk.

“You’re a bitch,” he told her, and the only reaction he got was a deepening of her smirk and the middle finger.

“Come on, Simmons.”

Tucker turned at Grif’s voice to see the larger man hovering by Simmons’ desk, work bag slung over his shoulder. Simmons still typed at his computer, giving Grif a glare when he poked the resistant man’s shoulder.

“I need to finish this report before we go,” Simmons insisted, ignoring Grif’s loud sigh as he flung himself back into his work chair.

“Sounds like duty calls,” North said, his own expression apologetic enough for both him and Tex. Tucker snorted before North wandered over to Tex’s side.

Another five minutes passed filled with Grif’s loud sighing and then Simmons finally finished his report with one final glare at Grif. The man simply grinned when Simmons started gathering his things and prepared to leave alongside Grif.

They headed out of the building together with parting words for their still working colleagues. Tucker followed the pair of them as they headed for the apartment Grif and Kai lived in. Tucker flipped through a dozen different scenarios and ways to lead them to a confession once they were cozy inside the apartment as he bounced along behind them. The bright sun shining above and the snowless streets offered the city a sense of hope, and Tucker let that buoy his own thoughts.

The elevator was broken in Grif’s apartment building, and he complained about it for the entire two flights of stairs they climbed. Simmons followed his slow pace, constantly providing retorts for Grif’s complaints. The man only continued to bemoan his tragic fate when they reached the final landing and headed down the hallway leading to his apartment.

“Grif.”

The sudden change in Simmons’ mood had Tucker stumbling to a halt between the two of them. Grif paused at the serious tone of Simmons’ voice, turning around to face him with a curious look. Simmons didn’t make any move to close the gap that separated them, and Tucker barely had enough time to focus on Simmons’ mental state before the words were tumbling from his lips.

“My dad wants to set me up on a blind date. I was thinking of saying yes.”

“With a girl?” Grif asked after a beat of silence, Tucker too shocked to interfere. There had been no hints of that in Simmons’ mind, conscious or subconscious, when Tucker had been checking. Simmons had always been good at hiding things even from himself but this–

“Obviously with a girl,” Simmons replied, harsh tone masking the anxiety tightening his chest at the thought.

“You can’t,” the words were blurted too quickly to take back, too quickly for a coherent thought to form before them. Their desperation snapped Tucker out of his stunned reverie and he plunged himself into both of the humans’ minds.

“Why not?” Simmons tried to look nonchalant with his hands shoved in his jean pockets and his shoulders relaxed. But his bright gaze watched for every twitch of muscle in Grif’s face, hesitant hope thrumming through him and keeping him locked in place.

For a terrifyingly exhilarating moment, the truth hovered on the tip of Grif’s tongue and Tucker poured everything he had into forcing that truth into the open.

“Cuz you can’t even talk to girls.” Grif pulled all of his sincerity back behind a smirk and Simmons’ whole body went stiff. “I mean, I guess if you want a purely physical bond–”

“Grif!” Simmons’ whole face turned bright red and Tucker contemplated just shoving Grif out the nearest window. “I can talk to her.”

Grif snorted and Simmons’ face twisted in the time it took Tucker to blink. “It will be easier than talking to you!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Grif said, and Tucker fought Simmons’ urge to just walk away right then and there.

“Why can’t you just be supportive of me for once in your fucking life?” Simmons demanded, snapping out the words to hide his hurt.

Grif stared at him, and Tucker was overwhelmed by a hundred warring thoughts flashing through Grif’s mind in a single second.

“If I’m so unsupportive, why don’t you ask Captain Maine for a new partner? Of course, then you’d have to explain why you’ve never complained–”

“I have complained,” Simmons cried. “I complain to _you_.”

“What are you even fighting about?” Tucker groaned, desperately trying to shove both of their thoughts back on track as they glowered at each other.

“I’m just saying, dude,” Grif said, the act of forcing him down a civil path exhausting Tucker. “We both know this is gonna be a miserable disaster. I don’t see why you’d bother.”

“Is that it?” Simmons crossed his arms over his chest, some of the anger seeping from his expression.

“What?”

“Is that all you have to say about it?”

In that single moment, Tucker could read the thoughts hanging between them more clearly and coherently than ever before. Simmons stood waiting for the only thing that could change his mind; a declaration of adoration that Grif could never give when he thought he was already defeated.

“You’re an idiot,” Grif said, and only the sparks of despair in his eyes kept Tucker from screaming at him.

“You’re an asshole,” Simmons snapped, and then stalked back to the stairwell.

“I know we all think Simmons is self-destructive,” Tucker said to Grif, “But I think you just took the fucking cake.”

Grif watched Simmons disappear and then slipped into his apartment without a word. For a long moment Tucker could only stand in the empty hallway as the reality of what had just happened sunk in more and more. By the time some other resident of the apartment building materialized in the hallway a few moments later, panic was clawing at Tucker’s lungs and choking him.

He disappeared from the apartment a second later and burst through the abyss into the angelic plane. The canyon was empty and quiet except for the whistling of wind when Tucker entered it, the sun beginning to set behind the craggy canyon walls. Tucker landed hard on the ground in front of Blue base and stormed inside the building.

Nobody was in the common room and Tucker knocked on each of his teammates’ doors with increasing desperation. He didn’t know what or who he wanted at that point, only knew he couldn’t keep thinking about how badly the two had managed to once again fuck up any chance at getting together or else he was going to have a complete break-down.

“Tucker?”

Tucker blinked at the sound of Wash’s hesitant voice, his hand inches away from the door of Caboose’s room that he had been pounding on. Tucker turned to see the other love angel standing a few feet away with a concerned expression on his face. Tucker stood frozen for a single heartbeat and then the words were pouring from his mouth in an unintelligible mess.

“They just keep making it worse–they keep fucking it up and refusing to talk like normal people and they can’t even admit it in their own way and it’s just making them more miserable–and they act like it’s only natural, it’s all the other’s fault, they won’t just take fucking responsibility and do something, _anything_ –and I’m trying okay, I keep fucking trying like you’re always on Church and I to do, but every time I get them to do anything it just makes it worse, it’s always the wrong decision and I have less than a fucking month–”

“Whoa whoa, Tucker, slow down.” Tucker had to bite his lip to keep from babbling any further, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Just start from the beginning.”

Tucker opened his mouth, but suddenly all of his words dried up. Wash just kept looking at him, eyes soft and hands splayed open as if prepared to grab Tucker to offer physical support.

“You’re not–” Tucker shook his head and swallowed down some of the panic, but that only shifted the uncomfortable lump of nerves from his throat to his stomach. “We’re not supposed to get help from you, remember? We’ll lose but I can’t–we’re going to lose anyways but–”

“You are _not_ going to lose.” The fierceness in Wash’s voice shut Tucker up instantly. Wash took a step closer and Tucker’s wings bumped into the door when he moved back in tandem. “You understand, Tucker? I believe in you and so does Sarge and Caboose and everyone else in this canyon.”

Tucker wanted to laugh at the irony that this love angel who had criticized all of Tucker’s methods and behaviour without the slightest shreds of mercy when they first met was now Tucker’s staunchest defender and believer. Wanted to laugh at the fact that he would find all the unconditional support and affection he had clearly lacked when alive in this fucked-up afterlife that nobody fully understood.

He wanted to, but the sound got strangled on its way up and Tucker couldn’t let the hysteria cloud the space between them.

“Besides,” Wash said when Tucker stayed silent. “There are other ways to help. Providing a distraction, for example. Unless you think continuing to think about it will help.”

“No,” Tucker replied, taking a deep breath. “I’ve had enough of those fucking idiots for one day.”

Wash gave him a small smile.

“In that case, I bet that time you beat me to the grove was a fluke.”

Tucker did laugh at that, and at the smug grin Wash offered him.

“You are such a dick,” Tucker told him, but he could feel a grin tugging at his own lips. “Bet you can’t make it to the other love angel base and _then_ the grove and still beat me.”

Wash snorted.

“You’re on.”

They both dashed down the hallway the second the last syllable left Wash’s lips, jostling the other as they best they could without injuring. They shot into the open air seconds later, Tucker a few paces ahead. Wash quickly caught up once they were in open air, wings spread as far as they could as he sped through the sky. The bands of yellow gleamed in the dying light, as if bits of the sun were falling and catching in those grey wings.

Tucker’s own wings stretched as far as they could and he relished the feeling of the air streaming through them and hitting his face. The land melted away beneath them and they zoomed through the gaps in the canyon walls, wings pulled tight to their bodies for a few precious minutes.

The meadow greeted them on the other side, and Tucker managed to pull up alongside Wash for a moment. Wash glanced over as their wings brushed each other and a grin managed to push its way through the remnants of Tucker’s despair before Tucker shot forward a little and tumbled through the air with a perfect somersault.

“Show-off!” Wash shouted after him when Tucker looked back after.

“What’s wrong, Wash?” Tucker yelled back over the wind. “Can’t go fast and look good doing it?”

Tucker saw him roll his eyes, but a second later he blurred by Tucker and then went into a tight spin with his wings cocooned around him. The soft tops of the long grass brushed his body and when Wash pulled out of the spin, a bundle of red flowers were clutched in his hand.

“Who’s the show off now!” Tucker called.

Wash simply smirked and then flew on ahead. Tucker cursed and sped after him, reaching down to let the tips of his fingers run along the tips of the grass beneath them. Wash never disappeared from view even if he was the fastest one most of the time, and they both pulled into the lead at times. They kept up the occasional trick, Tucker reveling in all of the freedom and sensations of flight that his wings gave him. He savoured the sound of Wash’s bright laughter filling the air of the fading day and Wash’s silhouette framed by the colourful horizon. He committed to memory luscious meadows and the otherworldly mix of different trees spreading across the vast land, the rock formations sprouting out from their base alongside the angels’ headquarters, and the canyon walls that spoke of shelter rather than prison after so many years spent bonding with others inside their confines.

They reached the other love angel base in record time, both pointedly not looking toward the Reaper base. They were both going so fast that they nearly clipped their wings when they veered around it and Tucker laughed at Wash’s startled curse. The laughter continued when they both pushed themselves as hard as they could to reach their grove, twisting around the rock formations and letting themselves tumble through the open air whenever they wished to.

By the time they dropped down into the grove, Tucker was breathless from exhilaration and exhaustion. A ghostly rabbit darted away and back into the forest as they both stumbled across the grass upon landing. Wash grabbed at the trunk of the wisteria tree on the outer left side of the semi-circle of trees near the grassy edge for support, and Tucker joined him a second later.

“Told you I could win again,” Tucker gasped, and Wash let loose a breathless chuckle.

“You got lucky again.”

“You are so full of shit.”

Wash just laughed again, eyes sparkling with the joy when he looked at Tucker. Purple strands of leaves hanging from the lower branches of the wisteria tree brushed the tops of their heads whenever they shifted, and Wash tilted his body toward Tucker when he spoke.

The motion caused Tucker to suddenly notice the lack of distance between them, only a few inches separating their heaving chests where they stood in the shelter of the tree. Happiness bubbled in Tucker’s chest, even headier with the adrenaline still singing through his blood in place of the earlier panic.

Wash just kept looking at him, that small smile that Tucker loved for all the endless affection it conveyed with such a tiny motion sitting on his face. The lullaby of nocturnal animals rung around them and Tucker let himself lean further into Wash’s personal space as those bright eyes kept watching him.

Wash’s eyes widened slightly when Tucker grabbed Wash’s free arm with the hand not resting against the bark of the wisteria tree. His breath hitched slightly as Tucker closed the minuscule gap separating them and kissed him.

Wash’s lips were warm and pliant beneath Tucker’s. The bark scratched Tucker’s bare arms as Wash kissed him back and stopped holding onto the tree so he could hold onto Tucker’s shoulder. His other hand snaked up to keep the forearm of the hand Tucker had on his arm in place. Something dangerous and bright and sharp and _brilliant_ bloomed inside Tucker’s chest as the kiss deepened and the whole world suspended itself to grant him a single moment of perfection.

Then Wash’s grip on him was tightening and he was pushing him away. Wash stumbled back and the euphoria in Tucker’s chest abruptly shattered at the look of utter terror twisting Wash’s pale face.

“This isn’t–” Wash sounded like he was choking, and he shook his head back and forth as if to shake the memory of the kiss right out. “We _can’t_.”

He disappeared to the mortal plane without another word, leaving Tucker frozen in place with nothing but the empty abyss and silent trees for company. For a long time Tucker simply stood there as his stunned mind played his and then Wash’s actions over and over again until eventually snagging on Wash’s freak out.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Tucker exclaimed even though there was no one around to answer him. He was sure he had seen _want_ in Wash’s eyes and he had definitely kissed him back so–

“What the fuck!” Tucker repeated with more feeling, suddenly growing angry at the fact that Wash had just left him with no explanation whatsoever. He looked around him for a second as if Wash had maybe hidden behind one of the trees while he freaked out rather than peace the fuck out to the mortal realm.

“Shit,” Tucker whispered when the grove remained empty of everyone but himself. He ran a hand through his dreads and then clutched at them as a hundred different thoughts raced through his head, colliding and tearing at each other.

Without much conscious thought, Tucker flew down to the mortal plane, landing on the top of some apartment building downtown. Maybe Wash wanted to hide from this, but Tucker could at least count on Church being on his side when he heard what happened. Tucker would even take his friend’s smug “I told you so”’s if it meant having someone else to yell with about what just happened.

It only took seconds for Tucker to get a lock on Church’s location, and then he was zooming through the air toward him. Tucker made his form incorporeal, shooting through building walls and apartments and then back into the open air of the city streets. When Tucker reached the apartment Church was in he did the same thing, shooting through the wall and yelling,

“Church, you’ve gotta hear what just fucking h–”

Tucker skidded to a stop midair, words screeching to a halt when he spotted a very naked Texas straddling an equally naked Church on a bed.

“What the fuck,” Tucker shrieked for the third time that evening at the same time Church met his gaze and screeched,

“Get out!”

Tucker twisted around as fast as he could and flung himself back through the wall he had come through. He landed in a hallway outside of the room he had just entered, stumbling to the ground much as he had after his race with Wash. He placed a hand on the wall and gulped in air as his wide eyes stared unseeing at the carpet ground.

“Oh my god,” he said in disbelief, and then dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Oh god, you owe me so much brain bleach you fucking _asshole_!”

He flung those last words at the wall separating him and Church. Church’s muffled voice responded a second later and Tucker slumped against the wall. Five minutes later, the door to the apartment creaked open and a scowling, but fully clothed Church poked his head out through the doorway.

“Don’t glare at _me,_ jackass,” Tucker snapped as he followed Church into the apartment when he gestured for him. “You’re the one who was having sex with a fucking human and not telling me.”

“You’re the one who barged in.”

“Because I thought you were here on your assignment,” Tucker shouted at him. They stood in the middle of open concept apartment, kitchen to Tucker’s left and the bedroom and living room behind Church. “In what fucking world would I assume you were having sex with a human? A fucking human, Church! And that one especially!”

He pointed at Tex where she leaned against a kitchen island. A handgun was in her reach but Tucker was too angry to care about how much a bullet would sting.

“The fuck’s your problem with Tex?” Church demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She’s been able to see me for _weeks_ and never said a goddamn thing. Just watched me yelling like an idiot because of Grif and Simmons.”

“You seemed annoying,” Tex said with a shrug, and Tucker glared.

“And Church _isn’t_?”

“Well yeah, but I’m fucking him.” The ease of her confession and the way Church scowled caused Tucker to pause for a moment.

“Well at least you know the asshole you’re fucking.”

“Oh I definitely know a lot about the asshole part.”

Some of the frustration boiling underneath Tucker’s skin eased at that and he couldn’t stop himself from replying,

“Bow chicka bow wow.”

“Oh fuck off,” Church snapped, but with as much irritation as his voice held when he spoke with the Blues on a regular day.

Tucker took a closer look at his friend at that, noted the defensive hunch to his shoulders and the tense set of his jaw as if he expected Tucker to physically fight him over the discovery. Tex looked perfectly relaxed where she lounged against the counter, but a careful glance at her made Tucker realize she wasn’t just watching what he’d do, she was watching what he’d do to _Church_.

All of the fight went out of him all at once, and Tucker’s whole body slumped.

“Alright,” Tucker said, and the two stared at him. “I’m fucking pissed at you for not telling me about this, but I guess I’m used to you being an emotionally stunted jackass.”

Church blinked at him, but Tex smirked. “So how long has this been going on for?”

Church considered him for a long moment before he relaxed just like Tucker.

“Met her the first day of my assignment with Kimball and Doyle.”

“The motorcycle accident happened that day,” Tex added. She gave Tucker one last look before pushing off the counter to get a drink from the fridge, leaving the handgun where it was.

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been sleeping together that fucking long?”

“No! That was just–whenever Connie got hurt, it started around then.”

Tucker narrowed his eyes at him but Church just glared until Tucker rolled his eyes.

“Alright alright fine.”

“You angels seem to have a habit of wandering in by accident and then staying like a stray,” Tex commented as she pulled out a beer from the fridge.

“And what about you? You’re the one who _agreed_ to it.”

“Seemed like it could be interesting,” was the only answer Tex would give and Tucker suddenly understood a lot better why Church liked her. And he did, judging by the way his gaze tracked her every moment and he responded to every noise from her, as if she had become the gravitational centre of his undead world.

“Wait, so is she why your memories…” Tucker trailed off, unsure what Church had told her about the love angels’ messed up memory system and the way Church had started to remember being human.

“Yeah,” Church said quietly. “I guess so. They’re all here now, anyways.”

“Everything?” Tucker stared at him. “You remember everything?”

“Just the love stuff, idiot,” he snapped, wings curling protectively around himself. “Just–having it fucked up and then dying.”

Tucker wanted to pry more, but Church looked ready to snap his head off at any more questions and Tex was watching them again with an eerie calm that hid a terrifying intensity Tucker had seen in her at work.

“I’m not gonna rat you out, dude,” Tucker said quietly, and Church calmed a little at that. “We don’t need any more shit for them to lecture us on with this fucking deadline coming up.”

The scowl faded from Church’s face at that, and he let his wings uncurl a bit. “Plus, there’s no way in hell I want to be left alone with Caboose for all eternity.”

“You’d last a week,” Church agreed.

“Fuck you, I’d last way longer than that! A whole fucking season at least.”

“Not if it was winter. You know how much he likes to drag us out to random ass snowball fights down here for hours.”

“So,” Tex cut in before they could lose themselves in an argument. “Why _did_ you fly in here like hell was on your tail, Tucker?”

All of his confused misery crashed back into him at once, and Church tensed at the sudden scowl on Tucker’s face.

“I kissed Wash. And now he’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend's reaction to me telling her about this chapter was basically just: WHY DO YOU MAKE EVEN PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES SAD. WHY. 
> 
> (Fun game to play: Can you spot the Dragon Age references because I suck at names)
> 
> I don't know why I am now so in love with this idea of Kimball and Doyle going to baseball games together but you can pry the idea away from my cold, dead hands. 
> 
> Wisteria tree symbolizes romance and the mysteries of a great and enduring love.
> 
> I hope you guys are ready, now that the plot is picking up speed, it's basically not gonna slow down until the very end.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, well, my sisters are always telling me I could use more adventure and this would certainly be a good one, I’m sure.”

**11 days until deadline**

“ **–** ooh, or a pony!”

“Caboose, _shut up_!”

Love angel and seraph stood in the middle of the police station as the work day whittled away. They stood by Simmons and Grif’s desks, though Simmons was the only currently working. Grif was in the small kitchen eating his feelings and getting more coffee. Caboose kept poking through his stuff while he was away and Tucker simply let him as it was too much effort to keep him quiet _and_ still.

Tucker sighed and glanced over at the other cops. Now that the secret was out, Tex would occasionally look up from her work at the two of them rather than hide her ability to see them.

_Shoot me_ , he mouthed at her, and she just offered him a smirk before returning to her work. Tucker gave her the middle finger, but all the anger that originally swept through him upon his discovery of Church’s relationship with her was nowhere to be found by that point. He had spent most of the night at her apartment with Church that first time he flew in on them, and while she carried an air of superiority, she also listened to him rant about Wash with minimalistic eye-rolling and was always willing to gang up on Church with him. Her simple advice of _just fucking talk to him_ had been more helpful than Church’s at least, and she let them play video games when his anger faded into self-pity.

“Look, Tucker, he has a pet!” Caboose’s excited shout dragged Tucker from his thoughts. The seraph stared down into one of Grif’s drawers with wide eyes, and Tucker heard the smallest squeaks of a mouse.

“Caboose, don’t open that!”

“Can we keep him?” Caboose asked.

“No, we cannot keep him!” When Caboose hunched his shoulders at Tucker’s harsh tone, Tucker forced himself to take a deep breath and soften his voice when he spoke again. “You know we can’t take living things home with us. They’re not made for the canyon.”

“I know,” Caboose said sadly, and shut the drawer with a sniff. The motion made a clanging noise, but Simmons didn’t even look up from his computer. Tucker opened his mouth to speak, but Caboose beat him to it. “I miss Wash.”

Tucker slumped at that, fighting the urge to scowl.

“I know, buddy.”

None of them had seen Wash since Tucker kissed him. While the love angel often disappeared to the mortal realm for a couple days at a time on assignments, five days without returning to the base was pushing it. Sarge told them he spoke with him briefly to get an update about assignments but he didn’t know where Wash was spending all of his time. Worry snuck into the older love angel’s gruff voice when he relayed that news and Donut had been biting his lip in silence when they discussed the matter.

Even Church seemed uneasy about Wash’s absence, and Caboose’s morosity affected everyone in the canyon.

“He’ll be back soon,” Tucker assured Caboose. “We’ll drag him back if we have to.”

“But he does not like it when I pick him up as a surprise,” Caboose said with a frown.

“Yeah well I don’t really care what he likes at this point,” Tucker muttered, glare going to Simmons given the human’s own propensity for ignoring everyone currently.

He and Grif had barely said three words to each other since Simmons’ news of his possible date and then confirmation of the exact day. Things were so tense Tucker actually took Church’s hesitant advice of taking Caboose along with him in the hopes that today would be a time when Caboose’s knack for creating near impossible accidents helped the situation. 

So far, the only thing Caboose had actually done was pepper Tex with irrelevant questions when it was revealed she could see them, and sift through most of Grif’s belongings.

A loud sigh drew Tucker’s attention. Simmons stared at his screen with a frustrated frown, rubbing at his irritated eyes. There were shadows beneath them, but the evidence of sleepless nights did nothing to make Tucker feel better when the man still refused to talk to Grif even with all of Tucker’s pushing.

“Fuck this,” Simmons muttered, and pushed himself to his feet.

Grif appeared in the doorway of the kitchen at the same time, hands wrapped around a steaming coffee mug. He glanced up briefly at Simmons, mouth going into a thin line and eyes looking down at the liquid in his cup. They both began to step forward while giving the other a wide berth.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Tucker groaned. “Are you both this fucking stubborn you can’t even be near each other for five fucking seconds?”

Tucker gripped at his hair while Caboose glanced between the two humans. “How am I supposed to push you back together if you won’t even stand near each other?”

Neither human heard him, pointedly not looking at the other as they made their way across the station. “Seriously, just five seconds. I just need you to stand near each other for five fucking seconds!”

“Okay,” Caboose said cheerfully, and stepped behind Grif.

“Caboose, wh–”

Too late, Caboose pointed both of his open palms toward Grif’s back and _shoved_.

Grif went stumbling into Simmons with a curse and Simmons shrieked as coffee spilled all across the front of his white Oxford shirt. 

“Grif!” he screeched, and everyone in the station went quiet all at once. They all turned to stare at the pair, Grif frozen with wide eyes and Simmons’ face flushing red in a second.

“I–”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Simmons demanded, and Tucker’s stomach dropped at the fury consuming every part of Simmons. “You _know_ I have my date right after work!”

Simmons’ face darkened at the sudden thought and Tucker desperately reached out to stop him, but the words were already leaving his lips. “Is that what this is about? You’re trying to–to _sabotage_ me?”

“Sabotage you?” Grif repeated, and let loose an incredulous laugh that did nothing to lessen Simmons’ anger.

“Just because nobody would ever want to date you doesn’t mean you have to sabotage mine!”

Tucker, Grif, and Caboose all flinched at that. Simmons crossed his arms over the stain spreading across his shirt with a twisted triumph on his face as Grif struggled to form words.

“Okay,” Tex’s voice cut in before either of them could say anything more. They all turned as the woman stepped right between the two men with a feral smile. “Why don’t we take our lover’s spat _outside_ of the workplace?”

“There’s nothing more to say,” Simmons snapped, and Grif just stayed quiet. Simmons opened his mouth, but stopped when Tex wrapped a hand around his upper arm and squeezed.

“I said,” Tex told him quietly, “ _Outside_.”

Finally a little of the rage subsided and Simmons gulped at Tex. She let go of him a second later, and glanced over her shoulder. “Sheila?”

“Come on, Simmons,” the secretary said, walking over to the trio with a soothing smile. “I know a place we can get you a new shirt. It will only take a couple minutes.”

She placed a hand on Simmons’ shoulder and steered him away from the puddle of coffee and Grif’s silent form.

“So everyone here looking to do over-time?” Tex asked the rest of the staring cops in a relaxed tone. They all hurried back to their individual tasks at that and Tex turned her attention to Grif.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he told her, and headed back to his desk without a word. Tex watched him go with an unreadable expression, glancing at Tucker once before returning to her own work.

“Yeahhhh, that wasn’t my fault,” Caboose said into the ensuing silence, and Tucker closed his eyes.

“Caboose.”

“Someone put–”

“Caboose!” Tucker shouted, eyes flying open as he whirled to glare at the seraph. “Leave. Now!”

Caboose only stared at him with wide eyes and Tucker’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I said leave!”

Caboose flinched at Tucker’s shriek, Tucker catching a glimpse of the hurt in his big eyes before the seraph vanished from sight. Tucker could feel Tex staring at him in the sudden silence, but he only remained in place for a few seconds before he too left the station.

***

**9 days until deadline**

They were both at their separate bakeries when it happened, speaking on their cellphones as they went through all of the baked goods to confirm everything was ready for tomorrow’s event. Church lounged against one of the walls as Doyle went from item to item displayed on the tables and counters of the kitchen. Once the two had finally managed to hobble together a menu for the client and start working on their separate tasks without screaming at each other, they had managed to create an impressive variety of delicious looking baked goods. There were truffles, cupcakes, cookies, cream puffs, a whole slew of things Church didn’t recognize, and even a cake that was currently in Kimball’s fridge.

“–asked her to run the shop while we’re at the event,” Doyle was saying to Kimball. “But she’s already asked to have your cellphone number so she can meet you. Apparently Emily has been telling her stories again.”

Church snorted as Doyle smiled at Kimball’s reply. The two were discussing the sister of Doyle’s that arrived two days ago. Church saw her briefly in the bakery the other day, watching as Doyle let himself be pushed around with hardly any protests despite her slight frame and the way she stood a full head shorter than him.

“I assure you, I will be going into the Witness Protection Program if that happens,” Doyle told her, and Church heard the briefest notes of Kimball’s laughter at that.

Then he reached the end of the table and frowned. He glanced back over the rows of other baked goods and Church straightened at Doyle’s sudden spike of panic.

“Oh no,” he said softly, moving back to stand in the middle of the kitchen as he looked at the baked goods over and over again. “Oh dear.”

Church pushed of the wall to come stand by Doyle’s shoulder at the same time Kimball asked Doyle to explain what was wrong.

“It seems,” he said slowly after clearing his throat nervously, “I forgot to make the lemon tarts.”

There was a beat of silence and then Kimball exploded over the phone. She only got five seconds into her tangent though before Doyle opened his mouth to cut her off.

“I know I know, but it will be fine, I can fix this,” Doyle assured her. “I will make them right now–yes, I know it’s late but we don’t need to set up until later in the day. Vanessa, please, I promise I’ll fix this.”

Whether his words or the firm tone of his voice calmed Kimball down Church couldn’t tell, but the shouting on the other end eased off after that. They only spoke for another minute to confirm everything was fine on Kimball’s end and when they and the crew would be meeting onsite tomorrow before they hung up.

“Okay, let’s not–” Church began as Doyle let the phone drop to his side and he stared blankly at the kitchen floor.

Too late, panic gripped Doyle’s thoughts and sent them into a frenzied whirlwind that buffeted Church’s attempts at control at every point.

All of them focused on his forgetfulness over such a key part of the order, something that hadn’t happened in years.

_Because of Kimball_ , Doyle thought miserably, though he didn’t lay the blame at her feet. Instead, self-guilt tore at him as his brain blamed him for allowing himself to be distracted by Kimball’s vitriol and all the moments of genuine connection in between. Self-awareness of how beautiful he found her and how he wanted to work things out between them swirled through him, and Church would have celebrated the conscious realization of his feelings if not for the horrible timing, and the way his affections were being twisted into something negative.

“This isn’t that big a deal,” Church groaned, trying to push Doyle’s thoughts out of hysteria and into some semblance of a rational pattern. Instead they stayed fixated on his infatuation on Kimball and all the ways she still hated him and would be happy to never hear from him again after this was all done.

“What the–where are you–she just spent five minutes laughing at one of your jokes!” Church screeched. “You spent five hours at a fucking sports bar last week! She’s friends with your best friend now! She’s okay with meeting your sister! She doesn’t fucking hate you anymore!”

Church kept grappling with Doyle’s thoughts, but the man just kept working himself more and more into a fit. Even when Church tried to push those memories of the moments of genuine connection and sincere fun to the forefront of Doyle’s mind, they were only served to make him more miserable as his own mind twisted them and tore itself apart.

Five more minutes passed in the same manner and then a single thought abruptly halted all the chaos. Doyle straightened, gaze going to the cellphone in his hand at the remembrance of the job offer waiting for him a province away.

“You’re running away?” Church shrieked as Doyle considered the email like a man just offered a last minute chance at salvation for his soul. “After all of this you’re just–what the fuck!”

_Josephine did say she was interested in working here,_ Doyle thought with a grim satisfaction and Church almost started screaming at him. He grabbed Doyle’s thoughts in a chokehold, but they simply bit and clawed at the both of them, slipping through Church’s grip in small but harmful wisps.

Doyle nodded to himself, panic starting to ebb away with the acceptance of this new plan even as Church kept trying to squash the idea.

When Doyle simply moved his attention to making the accursed tarts that started the whole mess, Church finally released his grip on his thoughts. He watched the man work for only a minute before the building scream reached the top of his throat and he had to vanish from the room to keep himself from also suffering a hysterical downward spiral.  

***

**8 days until deadline**

Doyle got exactly one hour of sleep the night before the catering event, but all baked goods were finished and all equipment loaded up and transported to the event site in time. The client had booked the Belle Winery and Event site which consisted of a ballroom with spacious, carpeted areas around the dance floor for tables to be set up, and a carved wooden archway leading to the on-site garden.

Both Doyle and Kimball arrived three hours early with a handful of hired help to set up the place. After much haggling with each other and then a discussion with the client, they had agreed on establishing an ethereal and classy atmosphere through their decorations. Church arrived at the start of the set-up and left after only five minutes when it was clear neither human would have time for any overt bonding moment until the room was set up to their taste. He returned twenty minutes before the first of the guests were due to arrive and couldn’t help gaping a little at their work.

All tables and chairs spread throughout the room were draped in white linen, fine glasses and white cutlery without a speck of dirt on them placed on the tables’ surface. Bouquets of white lilies, yellow roses, purple Monte Casino and blue delphiniums added a splash of colour to each of the tables, with glittering strands of silver beads looping down the sides of each vase.

Twinkling lights wrapped around the dark wooden columns that stood erect through the room, and twisted along the beams above their heads as if the two had captured the stars themselves for a few hours. The same lights were intertwined with white lilies as they crept along the archway leading to the garden where Church could spot black, decorated lanterns lining the cobblestone pathways so guests could sit on the benches and view the garden with some light to guide them.

A bar with a bored but sharply dressed server stood in one corner of the room with a stone fireplace and roaring fire to its right. Soft jazz music filtered through the room from the speakers that were tucked hidden from sight in the corners of the room where the beams formed sturdy triangles. The baked goods themselves spread across three large tables along the back wall of the ballroom, well away from the hardwood dancing floor near the front and the doorway leading to the rest of the building.

“Everything looks perfect, Doyle,” Kimball was saying when Church pulled his attention away from the decorations and to the humans.

Doyle stood by one of the tables, fingers fidgeting with the bouquet even though there was nothing about it to fix. Exasperation lined Kimball’s face and she gently knocked Doyle’s hands away when he didn’t immediately respond to her words. “We don’t have time to change anything else and we don’t need to.”

“Right,” Doyle said slowly, and took a deep breath as he stepped away from the table. “I suppose we should be checking on the food, if anything.”

He still glanced at the rest of the room and Kimball rolled her eyes.

“Look, I know this isn’t the style I originally wanted, but even I’m impressed. So let it go, alright?”

Church didn’t know whether to be more shocked by Kimball’s words or the fact that he hadn’t needed to do a single thing to push them out into the open. Tense anticipation bubbled inside of her just as it did Doyle but for once she controlled any urges to lash out. Though if Doyle kept gaping at her, she might snap.

The client arrived at that exact moment, distracting both of them as they headed over to greet him and show him everything that had been set up. The rest of the guests started pouring in ten minutes later, happily chattering about the dinner they’d just had at whatever fancy restaurant they booked, and ready for an evening of dessert, alcohol, and dancing. Both Kimball and Doyle were dressed up in a deep blue halter dress and black tuxedo respectively, and greeted everyone with pleasant smiles as they pointed out the various points of interest. The three servers that had been hired for that night moved in and out of the fifty guests with drinks for everyone.

Church stuck close to Doyle and Kimball’s side throughout the night though the two barely had time to socialize with each other as they constantly made sure the tables of baked goods was full and there were no issues at the bar. As three hours passed and the clock ticked closer to when everyone needed to leave, the two rested against the wall near the baked goods table for a breather before they needed to clean-up everything.

“This was truly a marvelous time,” the client said as he approached them with a grin and glass of wine clasped in his hand. “I know there were some concerns initially since you’re not technically a catering organization and you had never worked together, but I think everyone here agrees that this was an amazing night and the food was absolutely delicious.

“Thank you, Mr. Cox,” Doyle replied with an easy smile. “It has been a truly unique experience and we’re happy everyone’s standards were met.”

“Surpassed, I think,” Mr. Cox said. “And let me just say that I’d love to see any future collaborations between the two of you.”

“It’s certainly a pleasant possibility we would both consider pursuing,” Kimball said with a pleasant smile before Doyle or Church could come up with a reply, and both of them gaped at her. Mr. Cox beamed as Church prodded at Kimball’s mental state and found that she had genuinely meant every word that left her mouth.

They spoke with the client for a few more minutes before he rejoined the party and Doyle cleared his throat to catch Kimball’s attention.

“Actually, I’m thinking of moving out of the city soon,” Doyle told her hesitantly. Church swore and grasped at Doyle’s thoughts but he kept going even when Church tried to stop him. Kimball went still beside him except for a blink as Doyle continued. “I got a job offer teaching at Culinary Exchange–a culinary college in Manitoba. I applied back when those robberies were happening and the bakery started doing poorly. And Josephine has been expressing interest in working at the bakery since she’s between jobs now so I thought–I was planning on accepting it.”

“Oh,” Kimball said, and the one time Church needed her anger, she lacked any shred of it. “That’s–certainly a big change.”

Doyle laughed a little, and Church winced at the strain in the noise.

“Yes, well, my sisters are always telling me I could use more adventure and this would certainly be a good one, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Kimball said, and no matter how Church prodded or pleaded, only shock and a sad acceptance spread through her at Doyle’s words. “It will definitely be an adventure.”

She offered him a slight smile and then held out her hand. “Well, good luck then. And thank you for being a good, if infuriating, business partner.”

Doyle took her hand with a forced smile and Church could only watch.

“It was a pleasure, Ms. Kimball,” he replied. “And if you ever do want to work with the bakery again, I’m sure Josephine would be more than happy to work with you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They held on to each other’s hands for a moment longer and then both dropped their hands as if burned. With one last awkward smile, they both separated to begin the clean-up as the Mr. Cox announced to the remaining guests their time was sadly up. Church stuck around for another half hour in a desperate attempt to get the two to say something more to each other and admit that neither truly wanted Doyle to leave the city but both of them became more and more closed off the longer time went on. They spoke only when required and only about the clean-up as Church’s panic grew to an unbearable peak and a contradictory numbness began to consume him in response to the failure and unthinkable future looming in front of him.

He disappeared from the ballroom with one last hopeless look at the miserable Doyle and stubbornly closed off Kimball. He reappeared in the middle of Tex’s apartment a second later but couldn’t move when she turned around, stuck somewhere between a screaming panic and defensive apathy. He couldn’t have even said what he wanted from Tex if she asked, and she raised an eyebrow at him as he simply stood there with a wild expression on his face.

“So,” Tex said after a few more seconds ticked by in silence punctuated only by his heavy breathing. She slowly moved away from the fridge where she had been standing to lean against the kitchen island. “Did you fall from the heavens, cuz you look like a dead bird.”

“I think I might have fucked up,” Church said, thoughts snagging on memories of the way the catering event ended and then exploding at the miserable future awaiting his failure.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Tex snorted. “You fuck up a lot.”

“Why do I even talk to you?” Church snapped, but that simple line of snark was enough to start easing the tension curling through him, working better than any sweet words would have.

“Cuz you’re whipped,” she replied with a smirk.

“Angels don’t get _whipped_.”

“You complain at least twice a week that Tucker is more whipped than any human you’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not Tucker.”

“I should hope not. Something tells me he doesn’t beg as easily as you during sex.”

They kept going and Church found himself drawn closer to her the longer the conversation went on just like always. By the time another few minutes passed, he stood only inches away from her, her arms crossed over her chest with a smirk and he leaning against the island as one wing curled around them both. With each new syllable that fell from her lips and each miniscule movement of her confident body, Church’s panic faded more and more until he finally felt steady enough to tackle the problem once more.

“How pathetic.”

They both whirled around at the new voice to find the Director standing inches away from Church. Church heard Tex swear, saw her diving toward the gun on the counter out of the corner of his eye, but Church couldn’t move.

He couldn’t do anything but stare at the cold contempt blazing in the Director’s eyes as clearly as the day he reaped Church.

_“No no, please no, this isn’t fair, this isn’t_ – _please. Please not yet. Not_ – _”_

“Church!”

A hand closed around Church’s wrist and dragged him into a colourless abyss once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who wants a visual of the flower arrangements at the catering event, this is what I was basing the bouquet off of:  
> http://www.fromyouflowers.com/products/big_bright_blue_skies_bouquet.htm
> 
> Technically, you’d go through a catering organization and they would hire the different bakeries and such for a case like this. The bakery itself would not be in charge of running the event so this is actually a bit of an odd situation since Kimball and Doyle themselves are not a catering organization, but hey, what else is fic for XD 
> 
> This one is a bit of a shorter chapter before we get into the finale so...please don't kill me yet. XD


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Leaving won’t change anything,” Sarge told him. “Just hurt them.”

**6 days until deadline**

“Tucker!”

Donut’s panicked shout greeted Tucker the second his feet touched the ground outside Blue base. He turned to find the seraph careening through the air toward him, nearly knocking right into him as Donut skidded to a stop in the dirt in front of him. “Oh thank goodness you’re finally back.”

“Finally? I was only gone one day on my assignment!” He had been in the mortal realm since the other night, attempting to coax Simmons and Grif out from their wallowing to no avail. But Donut’s wide eyes and strained face made all thoughts about the two idiots flee from his mind in seconds. “Why, what happened?”

“They’ve locked up Church!”

Tucker’s mouth fell open as Donut rocked back and forth on his heels.

“What?”

“One of the Reapers caught him having an affair with a human and now they’ve locked him at Vic’s place to decide what to do with him. Sarge went over there with Vic and some of the Reapers went too and they’ve been yelling about it all night.”

Tucker twisted slightly to look in the direction of Vic’s home where it sat just on the outside of the canyon, but the solid rock walls blocked any sight of the other side. None of them had ever been inside the place and Tucker would have never guessed the first time they did enter would be because one of them got locked up.

“They’re not letting any of us see him yet,” Donut told Tucker. “But I think they should be done soon.”

“What about Te–the girl?” Tucker turned back to Donut as the terrifying realization hit him and Donut stared at him with a confused expression. “Is she okay?”

“The girl?”

“The one Church was sleeping with. They didn’t–did they do anything to her?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know, I didn’t hear anything about her. I don’t think they did anything to her but–”

“I’ll be back soon,” Tucker interrupted, wings spreading wide behind him. “Meet me at Vic’s as soon as you can.”

“Tucker, what–”

Tucker vanished from the canyon before Donut could get another word out. He reappeared in the middle of Tex’s apartment second later, wide eyes doing a frantic search of the room and landing on her where she stood by her bed. A cellphone was jammed against her ear and Tucker half-expected it to break in half when he spotted how tightly she held the object.

Tex whirled around without warning, voice cutting off midsentence and her other hand lifting to point a gun squarely at Tucker’s forehead.

“Jesus Christ!” Tucker yelped, and scrambled back on instinct.       

 “Oh, it’s you,” Tex said, and lowered the gun. “No, it’s okay, it’s one of his friends.”

“Is that how you greet everyone?” Tucker asked with a glare as she placed the gun on her bed.

“Just angels who keep popping in without any invitation,” she shot back, and there was an edge in her voice Tucker had never heard before, not even when he first discovered Church and her together. Despite the tight way she held herself, Tucker’s shoulders slumped a little at the sign that she at least remembered them.

“So what happened?” Tucker asked, and Tex snorted. She spoke into her cellphone before she answered Tucker.

“Yeah it’s fine. Just tell him what happened, but tell him to get his ass over to Tucker as soon as he can. Yeah, I’m talking to him now. Okay.”

She hung up the phone and shoved it into her jean pocket. After considering Tucker for a single second more, she sat down on the edge of her bed. Tucker sat down beside her after a moment of hesitation despite the way his anxious thoughts flamed the urge to keep moving until the problem was solved. Silence descended upon them as Tucker carefully kept his wings from destroying the inches of space separating them.

“Church and I were talking,” Tex finally said, “and then that asshole Reaper showed up and took Church.”

“That’s it?” Tucker demanded.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean it wasn’t like when I interrupted? There was no–”

“No.” Tex shook her head. “We were close and I’m sure even a Reaper knows what flirting is, but there was nothing else. The jackass didn’t even give an explanation before he was grabbing Church.”

A bitter anger twisted Tex’s face but before Tucker could even open his mouth she added, “The cockbite didn’t even fight back. Just stood there and let himself get taken.”

“What did the Reaper look like?” Tucker asked quietly, the extra detail gleefully tying knots with his intestines.

“White man in his mid-forties, dark hair, glasses and green eyes, briefcase strapped across his back,” Tex replied without pause, and Tucker sighed.

“We call him the Director,” Tucker told her, unable to keep exhaustion from weighing down his voice and shoulders. “He’s the one who reaped Church when he died.”

It was information that had been passed to him through a barely audible whisper in the immediate aftermath of one of Church’s worse nightmares. There were some nights where the nightmares were not only painful mentally, but also triggered the physical pain their bodies had experienced at the time of death. Curled in the fetal position, one arm draped protectively over his face, Church spoke through gritted teeth of the Reaper who only added to the grimness of the dreams that haunted him. Neither one of them spoke of it again until Tucker returned the favour several weeks later when Church found him clawing at his stomach on the common room couch in the middle of the night.

 Tucker held Tex’s gaze as she stared at him. Her mouth twisted in a frown but when she looked away, some of the unhappy lines on her face smoothed away.

“All the more reason to fight back,” Tex replied, and Tucker rolled his eyes.

“Man, you would say that.” He studied Tex when she didn’t respond right away, failing to find any physical signs of trauma. “So they didn’t do anything to you then?”

“No. Have they done anything to Church?”

She turned to meet Tucker’s gaze again and Tucker was even more grateful for the truthful answer he possessed when he spotted the righteous fury hiding just behind Tex’s calm mask that promised she would not only happily make quick use of the gun she did own, but she would also go out and find a new weapon just for this scenario.

“Not yet as far as I know. I just got back a few minutes ago and Donut told me the higher-ups were still arguing about what to do. I’m hoping they’ll let him have visitors when I go back.”

“So do you have a plan yet?”

“A plan?” Tucker repeated, and tried not to feel like the world’s biggest idiot at the look Tex levelled at him.

“To get Church out?”

“I don’t–I mean I just fucking found out about it ten minutes ago, and I don’t even know what punishment they’re planning let alone how to get Church out. Hell, you two are the first I’ve heard about an angel and human banging, this could be some sort of special cosmic circumstance.”

Tucker placed his head in his hands at that, fingers digging into his scalp as panic skittered across his skin. “Like fuck, I wouldn’t be surprised if they call in a bunch of pure angels for this, and those guys are usually cold ass motherfuckers.”

Tucker didn’t move as Tex leaned back at that, hands splayed out behind her and head rolling back so she could gaze at the dark ceiling.

“I’m sure he’d like that,” she said, the edge of one of Tucker’s wings brushing against her bare arm when she shifted. “The Director, that is. Probably only followed Church here cuz he’s still bitter I wouldn’t die when he wanted, and that Church sided with me.”

“Wait what?” Tucker lifted his head slightly, and Tex glanced at him briefly before continuing to stare upward.

“When I nearly died? The Director was the Reaper who showed up to take my soul. But I said no and then Church started arguing with him and getting between us, and the ambulance showed up before anything could happen.”

“That–” There was something important there sending Tucker’s thoughts screeching and exploding like fireworks, but he couldn’t focus on it there. He needed to be alone, just for a moment, to parse out this realization into coherency, and that wouldn’t happen at Tex’s apartment with the recent emergency crushing them both. “I might be able to use that.”

“Good,” Tex said, pushing herself up into a cross-legged position and twisting to face Tucker in one fluid motion. Tucker tilted his head toward her as she pulled her back up straight and clasped her hands in her lap. “What else you got?”

“What?”

“To solve this. What else can you use?”

“I don’t–” Tucker squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingers into his scalp once more as a headache started to build at the thought of all the problems looming in front of him. “I don’t know. Fuck, even if we get him out, we’re just gonna get reincarnated anyways thanks to this stupid assignment.”

“You still haven’t figured Grif and Simmons out?”

Tucker lifted his head at that just to glare at her for that.

“No I fucking haven’t, alright? You’ve seen them at work–they’re both stubborn idiots who refuse to just talk to each other even though they’re both in love and I can fucking feel them dying on the inside because they think they’ve lost even the friendship with the other but they won’t do anything to make it better! They’re fucking soulmates and yet they’re screwing this up enough to become fucking love angels.”

“Soulmates?” Tex cocked her head at that. “Those exist?”

Tucker snapped his mouth close on his next angry sentence and Tex snorted. “Tucker, I’ve already fucked a love angel several times in several different positions. I really doubt knowing about soulmates is a big deal in comparison.”

“Why do you even care,” Tucker grumbled, even as an explanation started piecing together in his head.

“I’m a cop, remember? We like to have all the details.”

“There are soulmates, yeah,” Tucker said after a second of silence. He stared at her hardwood floor as he spoke, curling and uncurling his toes against the cool surface. “But they’re rare. Like, one in every five hundred thousand people has them, or something like that. The rest of us are usually attracted to the same type of soul and if your soul gets reincarnated, it’s _possible_ you’ll meet the soul of someone else from your past life, maybe even fall in love with them again. But it’s not guaranteed. Soulmates–”

Tucker jerked his shoulders in some semblance of a shrug. “Soulmates are _guaranteed_ to find each other again and love each other and be good for each other.”

Wash and Church and even Donut’s faces flashed through his mind, and Tucker gritted his teeth. “So few people get that fucking guarantee and they’re just throwing it all away.”

Tex didn’t say anything for a long moment and Tucker just kept looking down.

“So are you and Wash soulmates?”

Tucker’s whole body jolted at that, head jerking up as he twisted to gape at the calm Tex.

“No, that’s not–we’re not–no.”

“You just love him anyways.”

 “We’re getting off topic,” Tucker said when his brain refused to give him a semi-decent comeback in the face of the truth. “My shit with Wash doesn’t matter anyways cuz he’s still refusing to even show up, and even if he does, everything is too messy to talk about that right now.”

“Maybe that’s part of the problem,” Tex replied, voice softening by a barely audible degree. “You love angels are always waiting for the perfect Hallmark moment to happen, but most of the time, life is messy and inappropriate, and you’ve got make it into moments anyways.”

Tucker’s brow furrowed at that and he stayed silent despite the way the endings to various assignments agreed with Tex’s words. When he simply sat there, Tex nodded and she once more sounded like a cop interviewing a key witness when spoke again.

“Okay, so who else can you get to help you? What witnesses do you have?”

“Witnesses?” Tucker repeated as he finally lifted his head fully, and Tex shrugged.

“The way you described it, sounds like these pure angels are going to act like a type of jury. The Director will be the prosecutor. So you need to get as many people on your and Church’s side that can vouch for him. Tell them he wasn’t hurting anyone, he’s never done something like this before–whatever you need to.”

“Caboose will definitely defend Church,” Tucker began slowly, mind flipping through the list of his friends. “Red team will too. Wash if he fucking shows up again.”

“I’ve told North to go to you,” Tex added. “You can tell him that I want Church free too, that this was my choice, and I’ll kick his ass if he doesn’t help you.”

The beginnings of a grin tugged at Tucker’s mouth at that.

“Maybe he can get the others from his base on our side. There might even be a Reaper I know who will help.”

“Good,” she said, and climbed off her bed. Tucker followed suit a second later, giving his wings a stretch while Tex continued. “And you can tell them I kissed first if it helps.”

“You think it would?”

“It would if we were both humans,” she said with a shrug that ignored the unfairness of her statement. “Sides, what are they gonna do to me?”

“You’re asking what the _heavenly deities_ are going to do to you if they decide you willingly participated in sinful behaviour?”

“I’ve never worried about the consequences of my so-called sinful behaviour before, why start now?”

Tucker almost laughed at that and only the severity of the situation kept him from verbally agreeing with her. She simply offered him the slightest of smiles before crossing her arms over her chest and jerking her chin toward the window. “I’ll deal with the shit down here. You get going and deal with the shit up there.”  

Tucker nodded and turned to go, twisting back around when Tex called one last thing to him.

“And if anyone there _does_ ask, you can tell them I _really_ don’t appreciate my boyfriend being taken and locked up without me being given any explanation whatsoever, and I expect him back here the second they pull their heads out of their asses.”

Even though no mortal could ever enter the angelic realms, the violence in Tex’s voice and determined set to her body made Tucker think for just a moment that this human really was capable of entering and burning the whole fucking place to the ground.

Then he was disappearing from the room and flying back up to the heavenly realm. He didn’t head back to the canyon, but instead flew straight for Vic’s home which seemed to unfurl right from the canyon walls to stretch into the meadow surrounding it. Tucker landed directly in front of the entrance, blue flowers swaying all around him with the wind. He only made it one step before someone called his name.

“Tucker!”       

Tucker froze at the familiar voice, his heart starting to pound in an instant, all the more painful with the days of absence. His muscles felt like lead as he slowly turned around to see Wash striding toward him from a few feet away. A relief so strong Tucker nearly staggered surged through him as Wash made his way over, but anger over sudden absence in the aftermath of a moment of terrifying vulnerability warred with that relief over the control of his tongue.

“You look like shit,” Tucker blurted out the second Wash reached him.

He swallowed the rest of his words as Wash flushed a little at the statement. Wash opened his mouth, but only silence fell from his lips, and he closed it a second later as Tucker kept staring. Wash’s face was a mess of exhausted creases, too pale skin, and thin scars. Dark smudges rested beneath his bloodshot eyes, and his blond hair kept flopping into his sweaty forehead. His clothes were crumpled like he hadn’t changed them in days, and even the feathers that stuck up at strange angles looked dirty.

“Jesus Christ, Wash, what did you do? Hide in the mortal realm all week?”

“No,” Wash replied, voice stiff in a way that made Tucker want to scream at him. “And I wasn’t hiding.”

Tucker rolled his eyes even though the composure Wash wrapped around himself only made Tucker want to tear that façade down.

“Right, that’s why no one in the canyon saw you this entire week, not even Caboose.” Tucker couldn’t keep the resentment from leaking into his voice as it bubbled in his chest, oozing and burning his throat and lungs when it latched onto the air moving in and out of Tucker’s body.

“Are you here to see Church?” Wash asked instead, and Tucker nodded. Wash didn’t say another word, just headed into the building as Tucker chased after his heels.

“What, so that’s it?” Tucker demanded as he kept pace with Wash’s long strides. They headed down a short hallway into a brightly lit room that looked like a receptionist office except for the wall of blank TV screens. “We’re not even gonna talk about what happened?”

“Now is not the time,” Wash said, jaw clenching as they come to a halt where Vic sat at a large desk. He looked up at them with a carefree smile at their approach, bright yellow walls surrounding them.

“Hey, dudes,” he greeted them cheerfully, as if this was simply any other day and he didn’t currently have one of their friends locked up. “You here to see Church?”

“Has anything been decided yet?” Wash asked, and Vic shook his head.

“Probably gonna have to call in some more pure angels on this one, keep everyone happy and impartial. Bets are on forced reincarnation. You can go have a chatto before anything happens.”

A clang sounded throughout the room, and the door behind Vic’s desk opened with a creak onto a long hallway. Wash nodded and the two love angels headed toward the empty space stretching toward them. Once they were out of Vic’s earshot, Tucker picked up the earlier thread of conversation.

“If you have it your way, there’s _never_ gonna be a time for it,” Tucker hissed, all noises echoing off the long, dim hallway. “You’ll just keep running.”

Wash’s face tightened at that, but he stubbornly repeated,

“Now isn’t the time.”

Tucker opened his mouth to snap back, but black cell bars suddenly sprung up in front of them and they both stumbled to a stop. Wash hesitated, but Tucker moved as close as he could and peered inside. There wasn’t much to see, just a sparse cot and a curtain which Tucker assumed hid a bathroom area.

Chin resting on the knees drawn up to his chest where he sat in the shadows on the cot was Church.

He looked up at their approach, and climbed to his feet when he spotted Tucker.

“Took you assholes long enough,” Church finally said when silence stretched between them. The words alone should have carried infinite snark, but all emotions in his voice were dulled by confinement, and he drew his wings close to his body rather than fill as much space with them as he could.

“You know how tedious bureaucratic bullshit is,” Tucker replied, keeping his voice as light as he could despite the way the whole situation made him feel as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of broken glass. “You can only visit at these hours, no bringing anything inside, breaking people out is strictly forbidden, blah blah blah.”

Church snorted at that, coming a little closer to the cold bars separating them. His shoulders slumped though when their gazes met.

“Shit’s pretty fucked,” Church said quietly, and bitter laughter scraped at Tucker’s throat.

“You know, there are healthier ways to deal with your memories,” Wash said, finally moving to stand at Tucker’s side by the bars. He spoke quietly, but his voice echoed endlessly in the dark gaps between all of them, and Church levelled a glare at him.

“Spare me the fucking lecture, Wash,” Church snapped. “I’ve already heard plenty.”

“I’m just saying, is a memory really worth all of this?”

“Don’t call her that!” he snarled, lunging forward to grab the bars as if ready to spit in Wash’s face. Tucker took half a step backward, but Wash just kept staring at Church with an impassivity that never failed to piss Tucker off.

“Isn’t that all she represents?”

“If she did, I would have stopped seeing her fucking weeks ago when I remembered everything.” His grip on the bars tightened. “She’s a goddamn person, not some sort of fucked up symbol to be interpreted however we want.”

“But–”

“Have you spent three years wanting to make out with Tucker cuz he reminds you of whoever fucked you up in real life?”

“Dude!” Church spared him a glance, and Tucker would have called his expression apologetic if he thought his friend capable of expressing one pure sentiment at a time. Instead, angry defensiveness snarled and snapped at the shreds of regret that twisted his face, leaving only a muddied mess of warring sentiments splashed across his face.  

“Well?” Church demanded of the quiet Wash who suddenly looked ready to fall apart at a single touch.

“You already know the answer to that,” Wash finally got out through gritted teeth a moment later.

“Exactly,” Church snapped. “We’ve haven’t believed your high and mighty act for three years, don’t try and pull it out now.”

“Neither of you are helping,” Tucker said, unable to stand the broken notes threading through both of their voices the longer the conversation happened, nor the way half of him wanted to snap at Wash just as harshly as Church had.

“I just wanted Church to be consider if this was all worth it,” Wash shot back, “since you two seemed so against reincarnation earlier. Not to mention what they might do to this human.”

“They haven’t said anything about her,” Church replied, and his voice went small like a scared child’s. “Is she okay?”

“I just talked to her,” Tucker assured him, ignoring the way Wash shot him a startled look at that. He offered Church a grin and watched his friend’s muscles ease the slightest. “Pretty sure she’s planning on breaking the laws of physics to come up here and kick your ass if you can’t get out of this.”

Something like a smirk touched Church’s lips, and his grip on the bars loosened a fraction. “She also called you her boyfriend.”

Church’s jaw fell open at that, as did Wash’s.

“She did?” Church asked a second later, and he couldn’t hide the happy astonishment at that question. Genuine laughter spilled from Tucker’s lips for the first time in days.

“You’re so fucking whipped, dude.” His grin merely grew at Church’s scowl. “But yeah. She did.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Wash said, but there was an odd note in his voice that Tucker couldn’t place even after glancing at his solemn face.

“It fucking helps at least,” Church said. “They can’t try and say it was all on me or only one of us gets something out of it.”

“Tex said we should try and get as many people on our side as possible,” Tucker told him. “You should come up with some arguments while we do that.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, dude, just something about how you both want it, they’re getting in the way of true love, whatever.”

Church’s face twisted at that, but Tucker cut him off before he could argue. “They’ll love sap, so milk it for all it’s worth.”

Church considered his words for a moment before nodding, and some of the dread squeezing Tucker’s ribcage eased at the new determination hardening Church’s body and pulling his spine straight.

“Alright, you go get us the army, I’ll come up with the most persuasive argument those motherfuckers have ever seen.”

Tucker snorted at that, but neither of them fell into their usual pattern of banter with the situation pressing down on both of their shoulders. Instead Tucker headed back to the exit with a quiet Wash at his side. Vic simply offered a wave when they passed him and stepped outside into the sunlight.

“Maybe it would be a good idea for you two to be reincarnated,” Wash said as he came to a halt just outside Vic’s home.

Tucker stopped a little ways ahead of him, turning to stare at Wash as his words tried to settle like oil in water. For the longest moment they didn’t make any sense, not in that order, not coming from Wash’s lips. When they finally formed coherent meaning in Tucker’s brain, he wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. His heart being squeezed and squeezed by something as intangible as Wash’s words, all the air stolen from every cell of his body, and all his protests shrivelling up alongside all of his belief in a happy ending.

“What?” Tucker croaked out after a few seconds of silence in which Wash refused to look at him. He stopped gazing at a spot above Tucker’s shoulder and looked at him when he spoke, Wash’s whole body going straight as if brittle iron threaded through all of his bones.

“It might be for the best,” Wash said, voice too composed for the way his suggestion clawed at Tucker’s insides. The grappling hooks that Tucker’s love for Wash had embedded in the membrane of his skin all began tugging him toward Wash as they always did, but now their pull only made him bleed.

“Is this cuz of what Church said?” Tucker asked, Wash’s blank facial expression flickering for a single moment. “About me reminding you of the lover who fucked you over?”

“No that’s not–I mean you do remind me of them,” Wash began, and Tucker couldn’t stop his whole body from going stiff with shock at the thought that he reminded Wash of the asshole who was still negatively affecting his health.

“But not in a bad way,” Wash continued hastily at whatever expression twisted Tucker’s face. “Not like–just your humour and how laid-back you are. But you care. He didn’t, but you do.”

“Then are you mad at me?” Tucker asked after a beat of silence while Wash’s words fluttered around Tucker’s head.

“Of course n–”

“Did you hate that kiss?”

“No–”

“Did I overstep my boundaries?”

“Tucker’s that’s not what–”

“Do you hate me?”

“I’m not saying–”

“Then why the fuck do you want me gone so bad?” Tucker demanded, unable to keep the words from spilling out as a yell with the way anger surged into the wounds formed by hurt.

“I don’t want you gone, that’s the problem!” Wash shouted, muscles uncoiling the slightest when he stepped toward Tucker. “How could you think–you were the first person I ever relied on after I remembered my own lover got me sent to prison! You’re the last person I ever want to say goodbye to!”

“Then don’t!” Tucker insisted, the new tidbit of information about Wash’s memories bouncing off the walls of his skull but incapable of being examined in that moment. Tucker couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his hand around one of Wash’s, as if physical touch alone could stop Wash from leaving if he really wanted to. “Don’t make me leave if you don’t want me to.”

Wash didn’t pull away from Tucker, but he shook his head at Tucker’s protests. When he met Tucker’s gaze, the broken chaos he saw churning there made his own skin burn. His lungs still struggled to pull in enough air, and the thought that such a painful cocktail of emotion had been gnawing on Wash’s insides for all these years stole what little breath remained.

“Tucker,” Wash said. His voice softened, but the gentleness stemmed from a lack of hope rather than any affection. “We’re love angels. Our job is to help humans get the partners they love, not fall in love ourselves. That’s how we atone, that’s how we make things better.”

“Atone for what?” Tucker said, fingers digging into Wash’s wrist without conscious thought. “For not magically getting it perfect the first time around? For getting hurt by the fucking mess of our shitty lives just like every other human who’s still alive? That’s fucking bullshit, dude, and you know it.”

“Tucker–”

“We’ve been telling you for years that you need to take time for yourself too,” Tucker shouted, jabbing at Wash’s chest with his free hand. “And you’ve been doing it. It’s the same issue. Hell, I bet it would make you an even better love angel!”

Wash opened his mouth again and Tucker moved even closer, desperation driving all of his movements. For Tucker may not have remembered5 how he was fucked over in his past life like Wash and Church did, but every part of him was screaming at the thought of losing Wash. “You can’t honestly tell me you think every other love angel on this fucking planet is single.”

“Maybe,” Wash said, and he gave Tucker a wry smile that made his stomach flutter even with the betrayal wreaking havoc inside him. “But they’re not me.”

“A paranoid, sleep-deprived asshole who thinks it’s his sacred duty protect everyone he pisses off?” Tucker snapped, only growing angrier when Wash’s smile simply grew sadder rather than fading beneath the defensiveness Tucker wanted to see.

“Exactly,” Wash replied, not even nibbling at the bait. Instead, he grabbed Tucker’s other hand and more words tumbled from his mouth. “Don’t you get it, Tucker? If you and Church were reincarnated you’d have another chance. You’d fall in love with the right person this time, you’d live a happy life with them, and you’d die at an old age, safe and peaceful in your bed.” 

“But they wouldn’t be _you_ ,” Tucker shouted, unable to do anything but fling the truth as hard as he could out into the open. “Don’t you get it, Wash?”

He could no longer tell whose hands were shaking, Wash or his own, but he saw his words short-circuiting Wash’s brain. Saw Wash’s eyes go wide, and his mouth part. Saw the way he inhaled sharply, saw the beginnings of a protest forming on his lips. Tucker spoke again before he could, determination only growing in the face of Wash’s inability to believe him.

“It doesn’t matter if I would be happy there or if I’d find some other asshole to love, because they wouldn’t be you,” Tucker continued. “And right now, you’re the only person I want.”

Wash opened his mouth but no sound came out. “What, did you think I kissed you out of–of pity or because I thought you wanted it or some other bullshit?”

They were standing as close as they had been when they did kiss, but Tucker kept his gaze firmly locked onto Wash’s eyes. “I kissed you because I fucking love you–because I’ve been in love with you for the past two fucking years–and I don’t give a shit about some potentially happy life as a human when all I want is to spend an eternity with you!”

Silence followed Tucker’s outburst, wrapping around their limbs and pressing on their shoulders. Wash just stared at Tucker and Tucker let him, not knowing what else he could possibly say to convince Wash. He bit his lip to keep himself from pressing the matter before Wash could respond, and Wash tracked the motion without a word. When Wash’s grip tightened around his hands, Tucker felt something akin to hope effortlessly slip between the links of the chains of anger and hurt coiled around his heart. 

“Tucker,” Wash began after a shaky exhale. “I–”

“Tucker! Wash!”

Both of them started at the sound of their names being called, Wash pulling his hand from Tucker’s grip and Tucker helpless to stop him. They both turned to see York and North soaring through the air toward them, landing a few feet away and jogging over with worried expressions.

“What are you two doing here?” Wash asked before Tucker could get out a word.

“Connie told me that Tex told me to find Tucker,” North explained, looking between the two of them with a frown. “And help.”

“You _knew_?” Wash demanded, though Tucker couldn’t tell who he was directing the accusation at as his gaze skipped to all of them. North and York both shook their heads while Tucker shrugged.

“I found out a week ago,” Tucker said, no conscious thought behind his words as his mind still reeled from the conversation that happened merely seconds ago.

Wash gave Tucker another accusatory look, and Tucker struggled not to snap at him that he had no right to act hurt that Tucker hid things from him after his recent disappearing act and the conversation they just had. “Around the same time North told me Tex could actually see us.”

“She’s been able to for months now but I didn’t know until Connie nearly died,” North told Wash when he whirled on him, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Wh–”

“Tucker!”

Tucker only had enough time to look up before Caboose was slamming into both him and Wash. The seraph’s arms wrapped around both of their shoulders, smashing their heads together and making them both stumble back as he clung to them.

“Hey, hey, easy, Caboose,” Wash said as both love angels instinctively returned Caboose’s hug.

“They want to send Church away and make him forget me and give him a new best friend!”

“Nobody’s gonna send Church away, Caboose,” Tucker told him as hot tears slid off Caboose’s cheeks onto Tucker’s shoulder. “We’re gonna stop them.”

“We are?” York repeated, and North shot him a glare. “Right yeah, we are totally gonna stop them.” He tilted his head. “What exactly did Church do again?”

“He–” Wash began only to have yet another person shout his and Tucker’s name. They all looked up as Red team landed in their little circle with Donut in the lead.

“Is Church okay?” Donut asked Tucker, eyes going big with concern at the sight of Caboose clinging to his remaining team members.

“Yeah, he’s fine right now,” Tucker assured him as Wash spoke softly to Caboose. The seraph shook his head a few times before letting Wash disentangle him from the other two, though Caboose latched onto both of their hands and refused to let go.

_“Estoy sinceramente sorprende que no hiera la de ellos , tanto en ese mismo momento . Eso es lo que debe suceder , verdad_ ? _” (“_ _I’m honestly surprised they didn’t smite the both of them right then and there. That’s what supposed to happen, isn’t it?”)_

“I talked to Tex–” Tucker started, only to have Donut and York cut him off.

“Who?”

“The human chick Church is fucking.”

“She is a very scary lady,” Caboose added, and Wash’s jaw fell open at that.

“Caboose, you’ve _met_ her?”

“Oh yes, when I was helping Tucker at the police station and he got very mad and mean and yelled at me.”

Tucker winced a little at that and the reminder that he hadn’t really seen Caboose since then.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, Caboose,” Tucker said, and Caboose blinked a few times before smiling.

“It is alright, Tucker, I know you were just mad at yourself for being dumb.”

“Aaaaand now I take it back.”

“Okay so wait, clarification.” York raised his hand slightly and looked around at the others. “So Church banged this human, Tex–a human who was also friends with North before he died–and the Reapers caught them in the act and locked him up?”

“There was a lot more canoodling than that story right there,” Sarge said, even though Tucker was fairly positive he had only heard about the whole affair when the Director dragged Church to Vic’s.

“Yeah, Tex called Church her boyfriend so–”

“She _what_?” North said, concern melting away beneath shock.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Donut commented with a sappy smile at the thought.

“Tex _never_ dates anyone,” North said, and everyone but Wash crowded a little closer at that tidbit of information. “I know she had fuckbuddies and people she would sometimes keep around for a few weeks, but she’s never called any of them her boyfriend or girlfriend.”

_“Para ser justos, no creo Iglesia sabría lo que era una verdadera novia si ella se acercó y le dio una patada en las bolas.” (“_ _To be fair, I don’t think Church would know what a real girlfriend was if she came up and kicked him in the balls.”)_

“That just makes this whole thing even more romantic!” Donut replied with a grin, and Caboose bobbed his head up and down.

“Yes, Church always has an allergy attack whenever he watches the end of a romantic movie with me.”

_“Oh dios, que son el uno para el otro.” (“_ _Oh god, they_ are _perfect for each other.”)_

“How would that even work?” York asked, fascination sparking in his eyes as everyone’s faces became more animated by the question. “I mean communication-wise it’s not like they can just text each other when they wanna see each other. Does he just pop in and hope it’s not a bad time?”

“That really doesn’t work for other people, but it probably works for them,” Tucker said with a wince.

“I bet they use a diabolical form of telepathy that only the dirty souls of Blues can use!”

“But, Sarge, she isn’t a Blue.”

_“Ella también es humana, y ningún ángel humano o el amor nunca ha sido capaz de usar la telepatía antes.” (“_ _She’s also human, and no human or love angel has ever been able to use telepathy before.”)_

“If she’s in love with a Blue, then she must be one.”

“The way South and I plan visits is just to decide a certain day so–”

“She’s a human!” Wash suddenly screeched, and everyone fell quiet as they all turned to look at him with wide eyes. He let go of Caboose’s hand to gesture with his words as his face got progressively redder. “She’s a human and he’s not–none of us are–and this isn’t supposed to _happen_ , you shouldn’t be _happy_ about this!”

Silence met his outburst as they all stared blankly at him, and Tucker’s urge to yell flared in response to Wash’s shouting.

“Well yeah,” Donut finally replied, “But Church is our friend and they’re in love.”

“Don’t bother using that explanation,” Tucker snorted, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Wash doesn’t think anyone who isn’t an assignment deserves love.”

Wash whirled on him, and Caboose took a step behind Tucker but didn’t let go of his hand. Tucker merely stood straighter under Wash’s glare, a small part of him feeling something akin to triumph at still being able to rile up Wash after he’d just been so emotionless in his composure not ten minutes ago.

“That’s _not_ what I meant and you know it.”

“Actually I _don’t_ know, Wash,” Tucker snapped back, all of his patience suffocating beneath the weight of his frustration and pain of rejection as suddenly as a tsunami wave crashing to shore.

He took a step closer to Wash, red filling his vision for a single second at the sheer audacity of Wash’s assumption. His hands curled into fists at his sides as Wash just stared at him, expression molded into a defensive mask as if their earlier conversation never occurred, as if Tucker hadn’t just revealed the secret he’d been keeping closest to his heart for years. Wash just stared, and for the first time in two years, Tucker couldn’t make himself stop and consider the way the past was influencing Wash’s actions when the present hurt so much. “I don’t know what you said is supposed to mean or what the fuck you think it should be making me feel, because you’ve been hiding from me for a fucking week, and maybe _you_ can just push out everyone you give a shit about, but a couple of cryptic comments about what you think is best after I just ripped open my heart for you _twice_ isn’t a good way to make me understand the situation. It actually just makes the whole thing even worse!”

Tucker was shouting by the end and he could feel everyone staring at the two of them as silence settled around them.

“Okay, now I am very confused,” Caboose broke the silence a few seconds later, voice small and hesitant. “I thought Church was the one in love.”

“He is,” Tucker said, dragging his gaze away from the still Wash when he didn’t respond immediately. He took a deep breath, and the necessity of the action only made him more frustrated with the whole situation. He forced his shrieking thoughts to shift their focus to the more serious matter of Church’s fate.  

“So what’s the game plan, Blue?” Sarge asked, seeming to take pity on the awkward outburst. “Or do your dull minds need the brilliance of us Reds to even get started?”

“Tex said we should get as many people as we can willing to vouch for Church,” Tucker told them, ignoring Sarge’s barb and the grin on his face. “I also think that we should try and undermine the complaint in the first place. Tex seemed to think the Director was only going after them cuz he was pissed about her still being alive, and this shit happened pretty close to the Director trying to get the two of us kicked out of being love angels even though no one’s ever complained before.”

“Something smells like shit-creek to me,” Sarge agreed, and only the two from the other canyon did a double-take at Sarge’s odd phrasing.

“Right.” Tucker turned to North. “Do you think Theta would be willing to help us out? Do some snooping at the Reaper base?”

“I think the kid would full on murder someone if North asked,” York said, and North rolled his eyes. “And I also know someone on the inside who might be able to help us.”

“It’s probably going to be pure and guardian angels that make the final decision, right?” Donut asked, and Wash nodded. “Well in that case, I know a guardian angel who’d be perfect for the job!”

“And I know a few pure angels who may be more sympathetic to the Blue’s plight,” Sarge said, grin becoming the slightest bit maniacal. “Us Reds can go talk to Vic and get them contacted.”

“I’ll go with them,” Wash volunteered while refusing to look at Tucker. Tucker tried not to let the hurt that action caused prick deeper than it already had, or let guilt over his previous outburst burrow beneath his skin.

“Caboose and I will go come up with some arguments for Church back at Blue base,” Tucker said. “Meet there by sunset?”

The others all nodded and headed off to their different targets without another word. Wash stayed rooted on the ground with the Reds, unable to keep himself from glancing at Tucker as he sprung off the ground and into the air. Words tangled on the tip of Wash’s tongue and he almost shouted after Tucker as the aqua coloured wings spread wide in the sky above. Breathing had become difficult the second he saw Tucker framed against the canyon walls and open meadow after purposefully avoiding his presence for so long, and even with the distance between them as Tucker flew steadily away, a hollow ache continued to grip Wash’s chest.

Yet the sight of him had also caused all of Wash’s tense muscles to ease within seconds, Tucker’s presence still the best thing at making him feel safe even with all the panic his recent actions triggered. 

Then Tucker and the others were disappearing from sight and even if they had stayed, Wash couldn’t have parsed out the bits of truth from all the anxious screeching and ghostly whispers and incoherent emotions.

Donut’s cheerful voice called him back to attention a second later and he hurried to follow the Reds into the lobby where Vic sat. Sarge and Lopez went up to him, while Donut hung back and gestured for Wash to do the same.

“So, Wash,” Donut said once they were standing out of the way by one of the disgustingly bright yellow walls and Sarge had been talking to Vic for a few minutes. “You and Tucker are still having some difficulties?”

Wash let his eyes flutter close for a moment, and resisted the urge to simply keep them shut as all of Tucker’s earlier words and angry revelations echoed in his head. Wash hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t hiding in the human world for the full week, but he had spent the majority of his time there and the rest of his time at North’s base. Nightmares plagued him in both locations, rubbing him raw and leaving him vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in months. Instead of that vulnerability making it easier to understand what he should do with Tucker’s declarations and what words he wanted to fling at the other love angel, it only made him a mess of warring desires and defensive hostility.

“I really don’t think I can handle this right now, Donut,” Wash admitted, and kept his eyes closed against the ensuing silence.

“Is it because of your memories?’ Donut asked, and the softness of his tone made Wash finally open his eyes again. There was no pity in Donut’s open face, only a promise of understanding and gentle curiosity. “They can really mess with your head, right?”

“Right,” Wash said slowly, studying Donut a little more closely, gaze snagging on the massive scar not for the first time. “But you–have you started to remember? About your life?”

“Nope,” Donut replied, popping his lips as he did. “Nothing more than my death, just like usual.”

“Right,” Wash said again, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Church getting his memories back certainly hadn’t made their lives any easier and no one would ever uphold Wash as the healthy example of what to do once the memories returned. Though Wash wondered if remembering their deaths alone was enough for seraphs to understand why their souls became the entities they currently lived as.

“But,” Donut added, a rare sadness dimming the seraph’s expression, “I do remember being alone, and not just romantically. Friends, family, lover, even strangers–I don’t think there was anyone who really cared when I died. It was just me, somewhere dark and cold and quiet and alone.”

Donut held Wash’s gaze, a strength Wash so often overlooked twisting and hardening and _burning_ in Donut’s eyes. “I don’t want anyone else to feel like that. You don’t deserve to feel like that.”

Donut straightened even further and for one long moment as stubbornness sowed steel through Donut’s steady body and threaded the strength of mountains into his voice, Wash could perfectly imagine this man standing knee-deep in the blood, dirt, and corpses of war and surviving just as the Reds said he had.  “ _They_ don’t deserve to feel like that.”

Wash swallowed and remembered the way pain pinched Tucker’s face when Wash told him he should be reincarnated, as if Wash took every good memory of the two and molded them into the length of a sword before stabbing Tucker through, twisting and turning the edge as he went. He remembered the way Tucker shouted at him in front of everyone only minutes earlier, every part of him animated by an anger that poured from the deep wounds Wash had carelessly gouged into Tucker’s insides when he tried to protect himself from those who only wanted to help him.

He remembered the way Caboose clung to him until Wash’s temper got the best of him, and the snarl that twisted Church’s face as he grabbed cold bars and wrapped his blue wings protectively around his body at Wash’s words.

A hand clamped down on Wash’s shoulder before he could respond verbally and Wash startled at Sarge’s sudden proximity.

“You ain’t thinking of running again are you, Wash?” Sarge asked, eyes gleaming.

“I didn’t _run,_ I just–”

“Hid,” Sarge said, and Wash glared at him.

“ _No_ , I–”

“Withdrew from everyone?” Donut offered.

_“_ _Enterrada la cabeza estúpidamente obstinado en el suelo?”_ _(“Buried your idiotically stubborn_ _head in the ground?”)_

“Ooh, went underground?”“Scurried off with your tail between your legs,” Sarge said with a smug look, “and refused to talk to anyone who could talk some goddamn sense into that thick skull of yours because you were too scared to face your own feelings and you figured making everyone scared _for you_ was better than being scared yourself.”

“Wow, Sarge,” Donut said, though he didn’t correct him or offer Wash any words to soothe the sting of Sarge’s. 

_Si había una palabra de lo contrario de recubrimiento con azúcar , su imagen sería en el diccionario al lado de él.” (“If there was a word for the opposite of sugar-coating, your picture would be in the dictionary beside it.”)_

Sarge just waited, staring at the silent Wash with his arms crossed over his chest. Exhaustion pressed on Wash’s eyes and crowded in his mouth when he tried to get out more words. He glanced at Donut and Lopez, ghostly images of those he once knew as a human hovering over top his teammates. But the past was only a thin veil where once it had been an impervious wall, and the voices of those who now stood before him easily tore through the remembrance of the liars and cheaters. When Tucker was around, he shoved all of those ghosts into the far corners of Wash’s mind with a single grin.  

“You’re right,” Wash finally admitted, trying hard not to slump at the humbling realization. He couldn’t make any more lies form  when his whole body was aching and crumbling after being away from his base and any solid rest for so long. _“_

_We’ve been telling you for years that you need to take time for yourself too. And you’ve been doing it.”_

Wash dragged a hand across his face at the echo of Tucker’s words and all the self-pitying thoughts that wanted to follow it. He met Sarge’s gaze and saw all smugness leave his face at the admittance. He gave Wash’s shoulder a squeeze as something close to sympathy clouded his old face.

“Leaving won’t change anything,” Sarge told him. “Just hurt them.”

Wash’s brain snagged on the word _change_ and he could only nod as whispered thoughts and remembered images started to tumble through his open mind.

The bright smile Tucker always gave him and the warmth that filled him and made him feel like he could fly through any storm for the glimpse of that joy.

The laughter that fell from Wash’s mouth and filled the space between them when they flew side by side beneath sun and stars, past, present, and future all melding together into one glorious moment of blissful freedom.

The purposeful misinterpretation of his desire to touch and hold Tucker more than simply when Tucker needed the comfort, unable to face the urges without panic but incapable of shying away from any opportunities to touch.

The affection that filled every inch of Tucker’s wide eyes right before he kissed Wash, all that adoration tumbling from his mouth, burning and branding every part of Wash at the simple press of lips.

The mutual affection that had been circling through Wash for a year now, making his bones as light as the feathers on his wings and his muscles as weightless as the air they often soared through, pressing against his chest every time he looked at Tucker and only growing more painful when he swallowed down the jagged shards of repressed emotion.

“You’re right,” Wash said slowly, trying to ignore all the cries of his past as a human that reared up and whispered darkly at the bright possibilities of something different and happy. “I didn’t–”

Wash sighed, and all three of them waited for him to finish. Gratitude swelled in his chest in the face of the patience he still had no idea how he earned from them. “I didn’t want to hurt any of them like that. It won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Sarge said after a moment, as if expecting Wash to argue harder. Sarge released him with a satisfied nod and Donut beamed at him. “Now, let’s go tell those lazy asses what an amazing job we’ve done here.”

“See, Wash? It just takes a little adjusting to fit everything in!”

Wash closed his eyes briefly as he began to follow the others, but he gave Donut a smile when he opened them again.

“Thanks, Donut,” he said, and the seraph beamed even brighter.

“What else are friends for?”

They rejoined the others in the Blue base common room a few minutes later. Caboose and Tucker were sprawled on the floor with a mass of paper and crayons spread around them. Judging by the way Tucker mostly watched Caboose draw while offering the occasional smartass remark, the colouring was for Caboose’s sake and not fundamental to their case. Wash hesitated in the doorway as Sarge announced their presence and success in his triumphant, booming voice.

Donut and Lopez immediately moved to join the Blues, Lopez taking a seat on the couch and Donut peering over Caboose’s shoulder at his work. Tucker glanced up at their arrival and his gaze found Wash within seconds. He looked away with the shadow of a scowl only a second later and Wash tried not to let that sting given Tucker’s ire was his own fault.

They waited until York and North arrived out of breath and grinning a few minutes after sunset to begin the meeting. Sarge told everyone they convinced Vic to contact the angels they recommended to take the case, and they would be arriving the next day.

“They won’t make a decision or talk to Church for a couple days,” Sarge explained. “Gonna want to look into the manner of the complaint and who’s made it and the base history and all that other junk.”

“Good,” North said, “Because we talked to the Reapers we know inside the base. They’re willing to look into the records and see if they can find anything for us.”

“And one of our dear friends inside,” York said with a sappy grin, “was also able to give us an interesting tidbit of information about how the Director used to be a love angel.”

“Vic said the same thing a while ago,” Tucker said with a frown. “But I don’t understand why he’d go from being a love angel to a Reaper. I didn’t think that was an option.”

He looked at Sarge but Wash was the one who made himself answer.

“It’s not usually,” he said. “There must have been some sort of special circumstances involved. It could have something to do with his attitude toward love angels.”

That grabbed everyone’s attention, seven sets of eyes swivelling to him where he stood by the couch York sat on. Even Tucker’s gaze jerked to him, though he looked back down to one of Caboose’s drawings when he spotted Wash staring in his direction.

“You know something special about that scumbag, Wash?” Sarge pressed, and Wash took a deep breath before he continued. He picked out a small swirl of navy blue on the wall to stare at while he spoke, but he could still spot Tucker tapping his fingers lightly against the drawing out of the corner of his eye.

“After I first remembered everything, the head love angel at our base put me under house arrest,” Wash began, trying to ignore the way his words sounded too loud in the sudden interested silence. North and York knew the beginnings of the story, but even they tilted their bodies toward him with sudden curiosity. “I was confused and angry and lashing out and needed time to process. The Director and the Counselor came to see me, talk it all out.”

He saw Tucker’s head lift just the slightest at that, and a little bud of relief sprung up amongst the panicked screeching inside him demanding he stop talking about the subject immediately. “The way they phrased things–I didn’t think anything of it at the time but they were implying that being a love angel was supposed to be a punishment, that they weren’t supposed to think about anything but their assignment. Which sounds strange now if he used to be a love angel and even when they said that they–there was just something off about the whole thing.”

Deafening silence greeted him as his words trailed off and the longer it lasted, the hotter his face burned. “Sorry, that’s probably not actually that important.”

“It is.” Wash finally looked away from the wall at the sound of Tucker’s quiet voice. His fingers hovered over the paper as he held Wash’s gaze for the first time since their earlier shouting match. “It is important.”

He left the reasons hanging unspoken between them, and the bud of relief blossomed into a thousand choking vines.

“I’m sure we can use that and the special circumstances to our advantage,” North said when neither Tucker nor Wash said anything more. He perched on one of the couch’s armrest and stared at Sarge and Wash. “Something you guys could look into if the Reapers can’t?”

“You bet your keister we can,” Sarge said, arms crossed over his barrel chest where he leaned against one brightly painted wall. “And I’m sure our arriving friends would love to look into it too.”

“And I will keep Church company!” Caboose declared, sitting up straighter at the idea.

“Should I keep Tex updated?” Tucker asked, and North frowned a little at that.

“Maybe not. We don’t want the Director having anything else to use against us. And besides–” North offered Tucker a smile. “–I’m pretty sure she can take of herself.”

Tucker snorted at that and after another few minutes, they were all set on their next course of action. Wash couldn’t voice his doubts about all of it coming down solely to the pure angel’s personal opinion in the face of their enthusiasm as everyone piled out of Blue base except for the Blues themselves. Tucker convinced Caboose that they all needed to get some sleep before they visited Church again the next day or started in on their plan, and Wash simply watched their antics in silence. Only when Tucker had finally cajoled and shouted Caboose into getting some sleep and they all prepared to enter their separate rooms did Wash speak up.

“Tucker,” Wash said as Caboose disappeared into his own room while Tucker scowled at him from the doorway of the common room. Wash had migrated to one of the couches, and he saw Tucker’s body stiffen at his voice before he slowly turned back around to face Wash. “I’m sorry.”

Tucker blinked at that and when he didn’t respond in any other way, Wash continued. “I’m sorry for disappearing on you–on all of you–like that. Especially after that kind of moment.”

“It was a pretty dick move,” Tucker agreed.

“It was. And I know you want to talk now but I need time to think about everything.”

“You were gone for a week.”

“Yes but I wasn’t thinking about what happened. Not honestly. And if I don’t then I’m just going to lash out again. So just give me a little more time.”

Wash offered Tucker the smallest of sardonic smiles. “We do have other issues to deal with first.”

Tucker snorted a little at that, but his body posture loosened after another moment of studying Wash.

“Is that okay?” Wash forced himself to ask even though silence was preferable to an outright negative answer.

“Yeah well,” Tucker said after another quiet pause, “I’ve got an eternity so.”

The familiar phrase stole all the breath from Wash but Tucker was already turning to leave and halfway to his bedroom by the time Wash could speak again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reoccurring phrases for the win~
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the Reds kicking the emotionally stunted Blues into action, and everyone working together!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who’s there?” 
> 
> “Oh my god,” Caboose gasped. “It’s Santa!”
> 
> “Caboose, shut up!”

**3 days until deadline**

“Please don’t tell me you’re using my fucking imprisonment to avoid your sickening crush.”

Tucker glared at Church from where he sat outside the cell bars, but Church just kept looking at him expectantly. Church sat in one corner of the cell where the black bars met grey wall, arm pressed against the cool metal as he watched his teammates on the other side. Caboose had brought books and craft materials along with him, the two other Blues having learned long ago how to keep the tactile seraph busy and therefore happy. He and Tucker had shown up every day of Church’s confinement to keep him company by lounging outside the cell bars while drawing and talking to him.

Neither that nor Church’s possible impending doom could stop any of them from arguing or ragging on each other though.

“You already asked me that,” Tucker snapped.

“Well you still look mopey as fuck so I’m asking again.”

“Washington has been very busy,” Caboose told him. “But he said sorry for not talking to us for so long.”

“Yeah I know, Caboose,” Church said. “You already told me that. And I told you he apologized to me yesterday. Fucking thought I had died. Well, died again I guess.”

“I’m not _avoiding_ him,” Tucker said, though Church caught the notes of petulance in his friend’s voice. “He said he needed time to think and we’ve got our hands full dealing with _your_ mess.”

“Yeah yeah, I know I should be eternally grateful for all your help, you’re all fucking saints,” Church said even though they had all seen the relief in his face the very first day they both showed up and declared they would be keeping his miserable ass company until the pure angels got there. They didn’t need him to tell them their loud voices were what kept all of the memories and their downward spiral of terror at bay.

He studied Tucker’s expression while Tucker glared at the ground and Caboose cut out small shapes from white paper to decorate the bars with. “You’re not thinking of staying mad at him forever, right? After two fucking years of pining? You can’t seriously have stopped being in love with him just like that.”

“You can be mad at someone and still love them,” Tucker replied with a roll of his eyes. He looked up with a smirk. “I mean, you would never fall in love with _anyone_ , let alone Tex if that was a thing.”

“Oh haha,” Church replied, and tried to ignore the way his heart beat faster at the sound of Tex’s name. “Up yours, asshole.”

“Besides I’m not mad,” Tucker continued as he stared at one of the paper stars wrapped around the bars. “Not anymore. I’m just–”

“Hurt?” Church offered when Tucker hesitated, the unhappy light in his eyes and frustrated twist to his mouth all too familiar.

“Yeah. That.”

“We should make cookies,” Caboose suggested before either of them could say anything more.

He glanced up at from the scissors and paper he’d been frowning at, and not for the first time in the last three days, Church wondered how shitty life would be without those big brown eyes always looking at him like he deserved to have a friend as loyal as Caboose. Probably life would be a lot quieter and a lot less hazardous to his physical health given Caboose’s propensity for accidents, but life would also be lonelier without Caboose constantly offering him company no matter what snippy mood Church was in. “Lots and lots of cookies with milk. And then we will watch all those movies with the weird jokes in them you like. That always makes everyone happy.”

He smiled at Tucker, his own brand of logic lending unshakeable confidence to his voice when he spoke again. “Wash will be happy too and then you can both talk without acting like bad memories.”

“You know that actually sounds like a good idea, Caboose,” Tucker said after a moment’s pause. He twisted to grin at Church. “And we’re gonna have to hold a party once we get Church out of here anyways.”

“Knock-knock,” a voice called before Church could reply, and all three of them started at the noise.

They looked toward the end of the hallway, but the newcomers stood at the very end so they couldn’t be clearly seen. Tucker and Church shared a single look before Tucker hesitantly called out,

“Who’s there?”  

“Oh my god,” Caboose gasped. “It’s Santa!”

“Caboose, shut up!”

“Oh hey guys!” One of the new voices called, and the forms stepped closer.

A guardian angel hurried toward them, warm smile stretching across his face. The wings that spread behind him were pure black without a single speck of colour, just like all guardian angels possessed. Neat lines of what Church could only describe as runes framed the angel’s face, some made of diagonal lines slashing across the brown skin, others endless swirls of purple colour marking meaning in a language Church didn’t know. Whispers pressed against Church’s skull at the sight of those symbols, but his soul was still too human to parse out any coherency, no matter how hard he focused on the barely audible voices.

“Uh, do we know you?” Tucker asked, climbing to his feet and pulling Caboose along with him. Church mirrored their actions as the guardian angel’s smile flickered slightly.

“Yeah, it’s me!” They all just stared blankly at him. “Doc? Donut’s friend? He invited me to a couple of your base parties?”

“Oh right, Doc,” Church said, as some dull recognition flared in his mind while Tucker and Caboose continued to look confused. “Hey, yeah, it’s been, uh–it’s been, uh, what? Uh, a couple mo–”

“You have no idea when I was last here.”

“Yeah, not at all.”

“So you’re the love angel everyone has been talking about,” came another voice as Doc sighed. Two pure angels stepped toward them, one with a large moustache looking put out by the interruption of the joke while the other one with long black hair in a messy ponytail beamed at them.

“Um, yeah,” Church replied, trying not to be dazzled upon seeing a pure angel’s wings for the first time. For a brief second he wondered if this was why Vic always kept his invisible, for Tucker and Caboose were also gaping without shame at the shapes trailing behind the angels.

Where Church’s own wings were made of feathers and muscles that gave the impression of the tangible world his soul originated from, these angels’ wings were all intangible, blinding light. Starting off as white where the wings met skin, the light that filled the corridor behind them was filled with glittering strands of gold, twisting ribbons of silver, and gleaming streaks of bronze. The shape of them was never still, the light endlessly curling and unfurling around an approximate outline of the edges of wings.

They hurt to look at for too long though, and the whispering that happened when Church stared directly at the runes on Doc’s face only grew so insistent as to be painful when Church kept gazing at the pure angels’ wings.

“That’s me,” Church got out after a pause as he forced himself to look away from the wings and meet the gazes of the two newcomers.

“Excellent,” the smiling pure angel said. “I’m Florida, my lovely associate here is Wyoming, and you’ve already met Doc.”

“You’re the guys here to judge Church?” Tucker demanded, taking a step forward with eyes as hard as the bars surrounding Church as Caboose shifted closer to Church.

“That we are,” Florida said, still sounding much too friendly for the given situation. “Sorry we took so long, we needed to talk to all your friends about it first.”

For once, none of the Blues made a quip about someone calling them friends, as they all shifted uneasily at the reminder of the newcomers’ purpose.

“We actually need to talk to you two still,” Doc said to Tucker and Caboose with an apologetic look. “Before we talk to you, Church.”

“Why?” Church wanted to know at the same time Tucker asked,

“What did the others say?”

“Sorry, chap, but those details are private,” Wyoming told them, receiving a scowl from both Tucker and Church.

“We can say we did some investigation of the Reapers as well and found some interesting things,” Doc said.

“But that doesn’t mean we can just let you go skipping off without having a nice chat first,” Florida added. “So, Tucker, Caboose? If you would please come with us?”

Tucker and Caboose glanced at him first and then slowly followed the other angels out at Church’s shrug. Church watched them go and the sudden quiet crushed his ears and battered his skin. He drew his wings closer to his body and wrapped them around himself as he made himself comfortable on the thin cot. It was a lot harder to be optimistic once left alone, harder to keep away the thoughts that insisted his fate had already been decided and this was all just for show.

The Director was a Reaper, the judges pure angels endowed with heavenly power from whatever deity or deities were laughing at all of them, and Church was just one fucking love angel. A being whose soul was still at its core human and could therefore be changed and manipulated however the higher beings wanted.

That didn’t stop Church from climbing to his feet with a scowl the second the trio of other angels returned though, arms crossing over his chest without a second thought.

_“You just don’t know when to quit,” Tex says, eyes all predatory and filled with unashamed desire as she keeps his arms pinned above his head, calloused hands wrapped firmly around his wrists._

_“Neither do you,” Church shoots back with a smirk even though he’s on the brink of begging for her to start moving again and his voice comes out broken._

_She doesn’t bother hiding her grin at that, nor when they have the exact same exchange of words hours later when they are quieter but still existing in the same space. But now she leans down to kiss him and whispers,_

_“Damn right.”_

“So are you assholes gonna let me go yet?” he asked, injecting all of the false bravado and smug confidence that had gotten him called an asshole over and over again into his voice. He stretched his wings behind him in a way that always made Tex snort at his attempts to be impressive because they both knew she could take him apart in seconds, heavenly being or not.

Compared to her, these beings’ wraths were that of a three year old having a temper tantrum, wings of light and all their ghostly whispers be damned.

“Unfortunately, we do still need to talk to you before we decide anything,” Florida told him. “Though your friends have defended your actions quite passionately.”

“We can go somewhere you’re more comfortable first,” Doc assured him, and the cell door swung open without any further warning.  

Church exited the cell with a degree of caution and then followed the other three down the hallway opposite the way others normally entered. The door at the end led to a small lounge area with three blue couches and white walls. There was nothing for anyone to do in that room but sit and Church took a seat on one couch while the other three sat on the one opposite him.

“So,” Florida began after only a second’s pause. The light spilling from his and Wyoming’s backs seemed to curl around the couch’s solid form and Church dragged his gaze away at the other’s words. “Why shouldn’t we punish you for your actions, Church?”

Church stared at him, all of the arguments he and Tucker discussed in the past few days shrivelling up on his tongue in the face of the straightforward question. Florida only gave him a smile where Church thought there would be scornful hostility. Doc looked curious and Wyoming a little irritated, though Church suspected that had more to do with the lack of proper response to his weird joke rather than what Church and Tex had done.

“Is that some sort of trick question?” Church asked.

“Trust us, if we wanted to trick you, you wouldn’t have the slightest clue it was happening,” Wyoming snorted, and Church bristled a little at that.

“It’s exactly what it seems, Church,” Florida told him. “We want to know why you think your actions are acceptable.”

“And you’d listen?” Church pushed. “If I give you a decent reason, you’ll just let it all go? No forced reincarnation or damnation or whatever the hell you’re planning?”

“It would probably be forced reincarnation,” Doc replied. “We decided damnation was a bit harsh given the circumstances surrounding the situation and the fact that the one who originally made the complaint has been found suspect in some other, graver matters.”

“You punished the Director?” Church gaped, wondering when the fuck that happened and if Tucker had known.

“You still need to convince us, Church,” Florida said, not unkindly. “This is, in fact, an unusual case and it is our job to protect humans and the natural order of things.”

“Our jobs,” Church repeated. For a moment he couldn’t move a muscle, remembering all of the times the Director had said something about their jobs in a cold tone and Wash in a harsh one, not realizing until that moment that both types of hostility stemmed from the same source.

_“Besides I’m not mad. Not anymore. I’m just–”_

_“Hurt?”_

“It’s our job to ensure human happiness, right?” Church said, sitting forward as his argument sprung from his lips in the heat of the moment much as the majority of the Blues’ words always did. “I mean, love angels help them with the romantic happiness part, seraphs help us help them, guardian angels keep anything from hurting their happiness, and you pure angels–uh, well you guys help with the overall happy shit.”

“I suppose some of that is broaching on the truth,” Wyoming commented dryly, and Church glared despite his fate resting in their hands.

“Right so we keep them happy. Well my relationship with Tex is making _her_ happy and if you take that away from her that would hurt her.”

“Not if we take away her memories of you,” Florida said calmly, and Church snapped at him despite the way ice coalesced in his veins at the thought.

“Just cuz you can’t remember something clearly doesn’t mean it can’t fuck you up.”

“A love angel would know,” Doc said sympathetically, though it only made Church want to punch him more.

“So your argument is that your actions make this human happy?” Florida asked. “And it would be unfair to take that happiness away even though such things are simply a part of life?”

“So are relationships and sex,” Church shot back. “And if losing happiness is a part of life then why the fuck would you make it worse by taking it away when you have the power not to?”

“Maybe we simply don’t care,” Wyoming offered. “Seems a bit of an overdramatic affair to be involved in frankly.”

“You’re deciding my fucking fate,” Church snapped, “and hers. If you’re the ones in charge of all us human souls then you should care.”

“But you’re not human, Church,” Doc pointed out gently. “Not right now anyways. And she is.”

“So fucking what,” Church all but shouted. “We’re not hurting anyone, it’s not like this whole thing is gonna make us wake up one day and decide we should start a mass fucking genocide or something. She’s a fucking cop, and okay I’ll admit that she doesn’t exactly follow the rules she sets for others but she’s not a like a fucking murderer or rapist or any other kind of horrible person who you guys _should_ be concerned with. And I can still my job–hell, I’ve _still_ been doing it for the past few weeks–and you know it would actually be better to have a human helper just like we have seraphs and sometimes use psychics and all that shit.”

Church took a deep breath when he finished and unclenched the hands he hadn’t even noticed curling into fists. He forced himself to glare defiantly from one angel to the next, pausing on Florida as he leaned back against the couch.

“You know, Doc,” Florida said without taking his eyes off Church. “You mentioned that Church isn’t human right now. But he _was_ human before and he will be human after if we made him reincarnate right now.”

“At its basis the soul is still human,” Doc said, and realization pulled his lips up into a smile as Florida’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Which means if we’re looking at it from the viewpoint of the souls, they’re not _technically_ breaking the natural order of things.”

“Oh they still are,” Wyoming said, but not in an angry manner, turning his body toward Florida in expectation of him finishing.

“But not as much as if Church here was another type of angel like ourselves,” Florida continued with a smile.

None of them said another word, all of them simply looking at Church who gaped for a moment as their words started to sink in.

“So that’s it?” Church finally managed to ask. “You’re letting me go? Letting Tex and I stay together?”

“It’s as you said,” Florida replied. “You two weren’t the ones hurting anyone. And I always did like a happy ending.”

“One condition,” Wyoming cut in as the three other angels climbed to their feet, Church quickly following suit. “Absolutely no children under any circumstances.”

“Oh heavens yes, thank you for reminding me,” Florida said with an appreciative clap to Wyoming’s shoulder. “No angelic children allowed. They were absolutely hellish to take care of last time.”

“I always thought they looked adorable,” Doc said as they started to exit the room, waving for Church to follow.

“I think you may need to have your eyesight checked.”

“Now, Wyoming, you know it’s not a good idea to hold grudges. It’s been centuries since they injured your wing.”

Church followed without a word, trying not to stumble in his dazed state. Vic waited for them in the reception area, offering Church a grin and congratulations that Church could barely manage a snarky reply to in his shock. When they reached the exit, Florida told him they would accompany him to Blue base where everyone was waiting and off they went.

The second Church stepped into the common room of Blue base, Tucker and Caboose leapt up from the couches they sat on. The Reds were resting on the kitchen stools, Wash crowded with the love angels from the other base in the corner of the kitchen, and everyone’s gaze shot to Church immediately.

“No need to look so miserable everyone,” Florida said as they entered the room. Doc instantly shifted closer to Donut with a smile for the seraph and Florida beamed at all of them. “We’ve decided Church may continue as he is.”

For a single second everyone simply blinked as the words settled, and then Caboose threw himself at Church.

“Fuck yes,” Tucker said with a slow grin as Caboose babbled about being Church’s best friend forever and ever. Church staggered a little under Caboose’s weight, but he returned the hug and offered Tucker the cockiest smirk he could muster.

“They knew you’d all be hopeless without me around to guide you.”

Tucker snorted at that, but his grin didn’t fade as the others descended on Church with happy exclamations. Church noticed the way Wash hung back slightly even when he offered Church a smile and quiet congratulations.

“You know what this means,” Donut told them, and North and York looked at him in confusion. “It’s time for a celebration party!”

He turned to the pure angels and Doc as all of the others started shouting about the conditions of the party. “Would you guys like to stay too?”

“Thank you, but we still have some parts of this assignment that need to be dealt with,” Florida told them, and Church quickly pried Caboose off him so he could face them when he asked,

“What are you doing with the Director?”

“He’ll be reincarnated,” Florida said.

“Seems like a pretty light punishment,” Wash snorted, and Church twisted slightly at the barely concealed anger in Wash’s voice. Wash crossed his arms over his chest but he would only meet Florida’s gaze even as the others all shot him glances.

“Second chances are important,” Florida simply offered, and Church looked back and forth between the calm pure angel and hostile love angel.

“What exactly did you guys find out about him?” Church asked.

“He became a Reaper because he was purposefully screwing up his own love angel assignments,” Wash told him without looking at him. “And then as a Reaper, he and the Counselor were taking souls too early and taking them where he shouldn’t be. Too bitter about his own unhappiness to let others have a chance at it I guess.”

Church shared a glance with Tucker who remained quiet despite the way Church could see words struggling to slip from his friend’s pursed lips.

“He was a special case,” Wyoming replied.

“He won’t be able to cause any more trouble once he’s reincarnated,” Doc assured them.

Wash simply grew stiffer at them but he didn’t say another word. Church could feel Tucker staring at Church as if assuming he would have some angry words as well, but his shoulders merely slumped in relief at the knowledge that he would never have to see the Reaper again.

“Now if you’ll excuse us,” Florida said cheerfully, “We have an escort to complete and we need to give Carolina information about her new position.”

Doc stayed by Donut, but the two pure angels left with one last wave. The second they were out of sight, everyone started discussing the party and what they wanted to eat. For one long moment Church didn’t speak as he let the ridiculous banter a part him thought he would never hear again crash around him.

“Alright, assholes,” he said loudly once he opened his mouth. “Since it’s _my_ celebratory party, I say we have to get at least one Hawaiian pizza. I don’t give a shit what else we make.”

“Stop inflicting your unnatural and disgusting pizza preferences on the rest of us!” Tucker shouted at him while triumphant amusement danced in Wash’s eyes.

“But first I need to go talk to Tex.”

“Ooh ooh, I want to meet her!” Donut said, and Church took a step back at the excitement in Donut’s face.

“Me too,” York added with a grin in North’s direction.

“Are we having another party?” Caboose asked, perking up at the idea.

“No!”

“No we’re not having another party or no we can’t–” Donut began, and Church quickly cut him off before anyone else could look more excited.

“No to both!” Church nearly sighed at the way both Caboose and Donut deflated at that. “Another time, okay, guys?”

“Okay!” Caboose agreed with a vigorous nod.

“Waiting longer only makes the climax even better,” Donut added cheerfully, and several groans met his words.

“Right okay, you guys get the food ready and I’ll be back in–a little bit.”

“Bow chicka bow wow!” Tucker called, ignoring the middle finger Church gave him as he headed to the kitchen. The others began to take up positions to either help or stay out of the way, and Church watched Wash watch Tucker for a second.

“Hey, Wash,” Church blurted, and the other love angel twisted with a raised eyebrow. “C’mere a sec.”

Wash gave him an odd look, but he followed him toward the doorway and away from everyone else as Church shooed Caboose away and into the kitchen.

“You know it’s fine to want things, right?” Church said in a rush once he had Wash’s attention, shifting in discomfort but refusing to look away from Wash. “Cuz I’m pretty sure if the guys upstairs don’t give a shit about an angel and human getting together, they’re not gonna give two fucks about you banging another angel.”

For a long moment Wash only stared at him with a gaping mouth, and Church shoved his hands in his jean pockets and glanced toward the door. “Right so–”

“I know,” Wash blurted, and Church looked back at him. “I know that it’s–I’m going talk to him about it so. Thank you.”

Church shrugged awkwardly at Wash’s gratitude but he didn’t shy away.

“Yeah well, you assholes should listen to me more often,” he replied, and Wash rolled his eyes in response. A little of the mirth left Wash’s face though when Church’s slight smirk hardened into a serious line. “Oh and Wash? If you fuck with him, I swear to God, I will get Tex to teach me how to aim and shoot a gun perfectly just to get you with a paintball right in the fucking eye.”

“Church, if I hurt him then I will absolutely deserve that,” Wash said, equally serious, and Church almost smiled.

“Okay, good. Tex and I already gave him a similar talk after he kissed you. Now I’ll see you assholes later.”

Without another word he vanished from the base and materialized directly in the mortal realm in Tex’s apartment.

“Jesus fuck!”

The surprised curse caused Church to jolt in the near total darkness as he realized he hadn’t even considered the time of day or Tex’s schedule. A dim light broke the darkness though, and when Church turned toward it and the voice, he spotted Tex sitting on her bed with a laptop resting on her knees.

Her reading light flared on in another second and Church blinked in the sudden light while Tex froze at the sight of him. One of her hands hovered above the drawer of her bedside table where Church knew there was a gun, her laptop carelessly tossed onto the surface of her bed at Church’s sudden appearance.

“Church?” Tex asked, and he didn’t think he had ever heard her sound so doubtful.

“Hey,” Church said, and all other words were strangled by the mere sight of her safe and whole within arm’s reach.

She shifted at the sound of his voice, drawing her arm back into her body and slumping forward slightly on her knees. She didn’t move off the bed though, and both of them simply stared at the other in silence.

Even though Tucker had assured him over and over again that the Reapers and angels had done nothing to Tex, Church couldn’t stop himself from desperately examining her for any hint of damage as she did the same to him. There were bags under her eyes that Church didn’t remember, and a tense curl to her mouth where normally there would be a smirk or eerie calm. Yet even in her pyjamas with the stress of the past few days wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak, she held herself straight and unbreakable like a lighthouse after a brutal storm. Not even the thunder in the angels’ voices and the lightning in their wings could sway her, and she didn’t need a gun to spit fire at her enemies.

“What is this?” she asked, arms crossing over the baggy blue shirt she wore to bed with threadbare grey shorts. “Come to tell me goodbye or?”

“No,” Church got out. “It’s not–I’m not here to tell you that.”

“Good,” Tex replied, “Cuz I hate goodbyes.”

“They’re pretty fucking shitty,” Church agreed, and he spotted the ghost of a smile touch Tex’s lips for the smallest of seconds. The sentiment faded quickly though and she tilted her head.

“Then what–”

“I’m not in trouble,” Church cut her off, unable to handle the way they were suddenly acting like strangers who still needed to measure their words carefully.

He took a step closer despite the tension hanging between them, drawn by the gleam of her hair and the brightness in her eyes that outshone even the wings of the pure angels. Theirs was the sun, impossible to look at and impossible to hold, but Tex’s was the distant stars that made his breath catch in their brilliance without blinding him. Just as far away and just as likely to burn his fingertips when he tried to grasp them, and yet when Tex looked at him, he found the stars had become fireflies whose light he could cradle in his shaking hands.

“They know the Director fucked up,” Church continued, “and they’re reincarnating him and they let me go and said it’s fine and we can just keep doing what we wanted.”

“They said it was fine?” Tex said, and Church nodded. She considered him for another moment and then a smirk spread across her face, though it was tempered by caution. “Then what are you still doing over there?”

“There’s–well, there’s uh, a condition.”

“A condition,” Tex repeated, and wisps of dread started to curl in Church’s chest.

For a moment he contemplated simply leaving the rocky conversation for another time and stepping to her and the safe ground her bed would give him. But even Church was capable of learning a thing or two after being imprisoned, and just the thought of being cut off from anyone like that again even if it was in the metaphorical sense made breathing impossible.

“It’s a stupid–I mean, it’s not like we’ve even been together long enough to–I’m not saying that we’d even reach that point or that I’ve thought about it–even when I was human I didn’t–”

“Church,” Tex said, and Church immediately stopped talking at the warning note in her voice.

“You can’t have kids,” Church told her, and Tex blinked at him.

Then she started laughing.

“Uh, Tex?” Church asked, staring as she wrapped her arms around her waist and doubled over with the force of her laughter. He took a step closer and desperation crept into his voice when she didn’t stop or look up at him. “Tex?”

She shook her head but the half-hysterical noise continued to pour from her lips and Church could only stand there helplessly. His wings flared and curled as he waited for her to regain control of herself and kick him out. When she finally gasped for air and didn’t immediately burst into another round of laughter, she straightened a little. She held up her hand when Church repeated her name, taking a couple deep breaths with her eyes closed.

Church couldn’t move when she opened her eyes again and climbed off the bed without a word **,** a battered ship waiting desperately for another glimpse of the lighthouse’s signal through the sheets of rain. He couldn’t say a word as she strode toward him and grabbed his hands in her own with an amused curl to her lips.

“Church,” she said, giving his hand a light squeeze at whatever expression was on his face. “I have _never_ wanted children.”

Church stared at her for a single weightless second.

Then helpless laughter began to pour from his lips and he didn’t stop until Tex started kissing him, silencing the noise he was sure could be heard even in the heavens above.

***

**3 days until deadline**

“Tucker.”

Tucker tensed at the sound of his name spilling softly from Wash’s lips. Tucker turned stiffly where he sat on one of the kitchen stools watching the antics of the Reds and Blues as they waited for Church to return. The pizzas were in the oven and Donut was trying to conduct a musical while they waited. North and York were obeying easily enough in their newness to Donut, and Doc kept listening with a sappy smile, but the others were consistently arguing or messing something up.

When Tucker finally pivoted fully in his seat, Wash stood at his side with a composed expression that Tucker wanted to shatter like a pretentious ceramic plate. He hated it when Wash still tried to shut them out, shielding his eyes with opaque glass, erecting chain links across his mouth, and hastily nailing together wooden boards to cover any gaps in his expression. He hated it when looking at Wash made him feel so many different emotions all at once that he would rather throw all of them in the trash and never feel again if it meant escaping the chaos for even a second.

And he hated that his hate was a lie. Not even a very good one, as flimsy as a paper wall and as blatantly incorrect as saying the earth was square. One look from Wash and it all came crashing down, leaving Tucker standing alone and exposed amongst the charred ashes of his lie with only his genuine desire for Wash to keep him company.

“Can I talk to you?” Wash asked quietly. “Alone?”

He shot a glance to the other angelic deities, but none of them paid the two secluded love angels any attention. Tucker wanted to tell him no even though he had already agreed to this eventual conversation days ago, but his traitorous heart sped up at the proximity to Wash and his brain would only let him think in the positives.

“Alright,” Tucker replied, and for a single second Wash couldn’t hide the blazing relief that scorched Tucker’s anger right out of existence. Not even the small burn marks Wash’s affection left when he offered Tucker a hand up could make Tucker’s earlier temper return, and he followed Wash up to the Blue base’s roof without a word.

The stars and moon gleamed above them as Wash started to pace on the middle of the roof. Tucker leaned against once of the pillars that spiralled up from the top of the roof just like the canyon walls around them and waited for Wash to talk.

 “You grin like you’re still alive,” Wash said abruptly, and Tucker blinked at the statement. Wash halted just long enough to meet his gaze when he spoke, and Tucker kept his arms crossed over his chest. “You do everything like you’re still alive.”

“We _are_ still alive,” Tucker replied, incapable of getting out anything but an instinctive response in the face of Wash’s sudden statement and the intensity in his eyes.

The way he stared at Tucker made Tucker feel like they were flying high above the dark abyss, where the only splash of colour reminding them there was something _more_ than the empty space enveloping them was the wings sprouting from their laughing forms.

“Maybe not completely physically, but in all the ways that count,” Tucker continued. “And we deserve all the things that living people do.”

“Including love?” Wash pressed, and Tucker’s heart stuttered a little at the desperate longing that undercut the bitterness in Wash’s voice when he spoke.

“Hell fucking yeah, including love.” 

Wash lapsed into silence again and began walking around the rooftop. Tucker could only watch him, unable to make himself any more vulnerable than he already had. And yet the longer Wash simply paced in distressed silence, the more Tucker’s stubborn resolve to stay firmly planted at the halfway point chipped away.

“I want to ruin all of the people who have ever hurt you,” Wash blurted out when he stopped walking another second later. Bitter laughter poured from his lips after his declaration, staining the night air like red wine on white carpet. “But that would mean ruining myself too and you keep telling me not to do that.”

“Wash,” Tucker could only say, words tangling and choking and dying at the way Wash seemed to be burning from the inside out from a past Tucker couldn’t change. Nothing Tucker said would make it better, so Tucker simply watched and waited for Wash to reach whatever point he needed.

“I just–” Wash took a deep breath and stopped walking, limbs jerking into a halted position like a marionette. “The last time I loved anyone I ended up drugged, framed for possession of drugs, and sent to jail.”

He held Tucker’s gaze, body all slashed lines and sharp angles against a dark backdrop. A plea seeped and bled from the restraint in his voice, begging Tucker to put together all the jagged edge pieces into a coherent picture even if it meant cutting open his fingers in the process.

“I was so angry,” Wash continued, shoving his hand through his messy hair. “I kept telling myself it must have been a mistake, my boyfriend would come back and explain everything as if there was any kind of logical explanation for what the fuck happened. And then a friend finally came for a visitation, told me he was in a completely different province, made me realize what I knew but didn’t want to think.”

“So you’re worried I’ll hurt you?” Tucker asked, voice quiet despite how much saying that statement out loud hurt himself.

“ _No_ ,” Wash replied, vehemently, instantly, wings flaring out behind him as if ready to fight anyone who dared make such a claim. He retracted and loosened a little when Tucker just levelled him with a look, and then continued with a sigh. “I mean, subconsciously maybe, but not that you’d do it on purpose. I’m worried that I’d fuck you–all of it–up.”

“So your answer was to run?” Tucker asked even though his resentment over the matter was flaking away from him the more Wash talked.

“Tucker,” Wash said, and it was completely unfair that Wash held so much power by simply saying his name, and that Wash remained utterly unaware of the effect. “That first time my friend finally told me what my boyfriend had done, I picked a fight so bad they put me in solitary for two weeks.”

Wash shifted from foot to foot and the distance between them loomed and breathed with the tension of the conversation. “I know I told you the other inmates didn’t like me–didn’t like that I fought back. Most of them were thugs, violent, mean, but I picked just as many fights as they did. And a lot of the times it was just because I was angry and I couldn’t take it and I _wanted_ to be sent to solitary so I could be alone and broken and I don’t think I know how to do this.”

Tucker couldn’t speak for a moment as his brain struggled to neatly fit all of the new information in between the books crammed with facts he already knew about Wash. Wash couldn’t seem to get anymore words out either after vocalizing so much of what he had kept hidden for the past four years.

“How to do this?” Tucker finally repeated once he was capable of ignoring the shattered mask of Wash’s composure that lay discarded somewhere by their feet.

“With everything that’s happened this past week, so much has changed.” Wash offered Tucker the smallest curl of his lips, but Tucker could see two lifetimes of helpless adoration and painful truth in that one small motion. “But not the way I feel about you.”

They cut and slashed and _hurt_ , but all of the jagged pieces finally fell into place as Tucker gaped at Wash.

“You–” Tucker stopped and forced himself not to pound on his chest to make sure his heart was still beating. “Okay, I know I’ve gotten really good at reading all of your cryptic comments and paranoid bullshit but you can’t just say shit like that after everything that happened and just–”

“Tucker,” Wash cut him off, fond laughter suppressed by his patient tone, “I kissed you back.”

“And then you ran away and ignored us for days!” Tucker shot back, voice going a little shrill in a way that reminded him of Church. “That’s the definition of mixed signals, Wash!”

“Have your feelings changed?” Wash asked, voice going quieter but unable to completely hide the fear in his voice. Tucker bit back hysterical laughter at the question and shook his head so violently his dreads whipped into his face.

“I told you I’ve been in love with you for two fucking years. Those kind of feelings don’t just go away because you were being more of a dick than you usually are.”

Wash blinked at him for a couple seconds of stunned silence, and then a smile that made him seem several years younger spread from ear to ear.

“Then you want this?”

“Why don’t you show me just what it is you want, Wash?” Tucker said instead of directly answering, jerking his chin up in an approximation of his usual cocky attitude to hide the fact that he didn’t think he could make himself move from his current spot on his suddenly shaky legs.

Tucker saw the same spark Wash got before they raced in his eyes, and then the other love angel was striding toward him without any further hesitation. The fingers that pressed against Tucker’s jaw and tipped his chin back stole Tucker’s breath in their gentleness, and Wash paused for a split second as if giving Tucker one last chance to back out.

Then he was pressing his lips to Tucker’s and everything from the gleaming stars above to the cold concrete digging into Tucker’s back disappeared under the weight of the stubborn presence that was _Wash Wash Wash._

When Wash made to move away after only a few seconds, Tucker wrapped his arms around Wash’s neck and held him there, making him understand what words would only unravel and mangle when someone like Tucker tried to slip them into the too tiny gaps between the air’s molecules. The act of touching and kissing was melded to Tucker’s bones like wire even when he had no tangible memories of either, and he let all of his instinctual knowledge take over as he kissed Wash back as hard as he could. His wings spread out behind him as they deepened the kiss, and the feathers of Wash’s wings brushed their arms as they curled around the both of them. A single moment unfurled around them the longer they stayed within the safety of each other’s arms, and neither the ghosts of the past, the fading turmoil of the present, nor uncertainty of the future could interrupt.

When they finally pulled apart, Tucker could only stare at Wash as Tucker struggled to catch his breath. Wash looked just as dazed as him, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging open a little bit beneath flushed cheeks. His grey and yellow wings stayed firmly curled around them, but Tucker didn’t try to move out from the circle of his arms and he slowly lowered his hands to rest on Wash’s heaving chest. Wash’s hands had moved during the kiss so one cupped the side of Tucker’s face while the other pressed against Tucker’s wing. He didn’t move either of them, though his grip softened along with his expression when his gaze fully focused on Tucker.

“Okay?” Wash asked, his voice and expression overflowing with so much affection Tucker wondered how he had ever hid it.

“Understatement,” Tucker replied, and earned a huffed out laugh in response.

“I still don’t know what I’m doing,” Wash told him.

“Yeah well,” Tucker said, and covered the hand of Wash’s that clutched his wing with his own, “We’ve got an eternity.”

***

**2 days until deadline**

“A dealio is a dealio,” Vic said when Church and Tucker asked him about changing the deadline set on their assignment given the Director’s recent reincarnation. “But I’ll give Carolina a call, see what she’s thinking. You two see what you can do before times up.”

Which was why Tucker found himself desperately trailing after Grif and Simmons as they headed to Kimball’s bakery the day after Church’s release. Even the exuberant joy that stemmed from spending all night nestled in the same bed as Wash and waking up to sleepy kisses faded when Tucker trudged into the police station contemplating worst case scenarios. Yet Grif and Simmons had been in strangely good moods when Tucker arrived, talking to each other as if Simmons dating someone else had never happened. Indeed, when Tucker managed to catch Tex’s attention and ask her what the fuck he missed, she simply informed him Simmons had cut off any relations with the girl his dad wanted him to date.

Now the two cops walked side by side, not quite holding hands, but arms brushing each other every few seconds just as Tucker and Wash’s wings had all throughout last night after their first make-out. Tucker didn’t even need to tweak their thoughts to keep them happily arguing about the latest superhero movie and the case they just solved. They entered Kimball’s empty shop and then stumbled to a halt a few steps in as the bell above the door announced their arrival. Tucker squeezed in behind them, and followed Simmons’ curious gaze.

“Does it look different to you?” Simmons asked as Grif started to head for the counter, only stopping briefly because Simmons did.

“It’s decorated,” Grif said without looking away from his intense study of the display of baked goods.

Tucker frowned at Grif’s statement but when he gave the inside décor a closer look, he found Grif’s statement to be true. Where previously the white walls were lacking any hint of personality, now there was Blue Jays merchandise carefully spaced along the walls and a trim of sky blue where the ceiling met wall. The smallest of cutesy pictures were painted in the corners of the windows and the displays of food with vibrant colours.

“Huh,” Simmons said, gazing around the like the store had become a particularly interesting math equation.

“Doyle’s shop looked different when I went in yesterday too,” Grif told him. “Less cluttered.”

He glanced up at the menu and then looked over his shoulder at Simmons with an impatient expression.

“Are you really gonna stand here and compare their internal decorating all day, Simmons? I’m fucking starving.”

“You’re always starving, fatass,” Simmons retorted, but he moved to stand beside Grif nonetheless. “What do you want?”

Both Grif and Tucker gaped at him, and he simply raised an eyebrow in response.

“Tex told me you forgot your wallet,” Simmons told him. “Just like you do every single time we go here.”

“Mornings are stressful,” Grif replied after a few seconds while Tucker quickly scanned Simmons’ mood for any irritated anger and found none. “It makes me forgetful.”

“No, you’re just an asshole,” Simmons said, but the insult sounded fond. “Do you want the pecan truffle or triple chocolate cheesecake today?”

“Pecan truffle.” Simmons nodded and began to rifle through his wallet even though neither Kimball nor any other employee were in the room yet. “Ooh, and get me that green tea milkshake too.”

“I’m not made of money, Grif!”

Grif simply grinned and then leaned in to give Simmons a kiss directly on the mouth like he’d been doing it for centuries.

Tucker was certain his ensuing screech could be heard not only in the heavens, but whatever fucked up version of a hell existed in the weird cosmos he found himself trapped in.

“What the _fuck_!” Tucker shouted when Simmons didn’t even appear startled by the action, simply blushing a little and then returning to the counting of his money. “When–how–I don’t–I can’t–the fuck!”

Before Tucker could even start delving into either of his assignee’s minds to figure out when he had missed not just the turning point, but the entire fucking road that led to that point, Church came stumbling out of the backroom looking as lost as Tucker felt.

“Kimball and Doyle are making out in the backroom,” he told Tucker when he spotted his friend, the words neutral in his shock.

“They just kissed!” Tucker yelled. He jabbed his finger at the two cops who were now arguing about the work day while their minds lingered on the way the kiss tasted faintly like chocolate.

The bell of the bakery’s door chimed before Church could get out a word, and everyone turned to see Tex stepping through the doorway. She spared her fellow cops a quick greeting and then glanced over at the stunned and still love angels.

“You’re gonna have to wait awhile if you want anything,” Church told her, some of the confusion instantly melting away beneath happiness at the mere sight of her. Tucker rolled his eyes, but Church didn’t seem to notice. “They’re making out back there. Which I’m pretty sure breaks at least three fucking health and safety regulations.”

“I know,” Tex said, gaze locked on the confused humans. “I just came to see how the cake was doing. Looks like it’s all finished.”

Without another word, she turned around and headed back out the door as four gaping mouths watched her go.   

“Wait,” Tucker finally said a second later as Grif and Simmons simply shrugged and went back to the menu. Not even their intent to make out as soon as they got home could distract Tucker from piecing together the meaning of Tex’s words. “Did she just claim what I think she claimed?”

Instead of answering, Church simply shot out the door after her. Tucker only waited a second longer before he was following his friend into the daylight, calling Tex’s name as she strode down the empty sidewalk. She didn’t look back at them or slow her pace, but she allowed them to fall into step on either side of her without protest as the city’s noisy heartbeat sounded all around them.

“Alright,” Tucker said with a massive grin, helpless gratitude and weightless joy erasing all thoughts of potentially negative reactions as he curled his wing briefly around Tex’s body. “I guess you can stay.”

Tex snorted as Church slipped his hand into hers without a word.

“Please, I’ve been carrying both your asses since I found out about your assignments,” Tex said, no effort made to hide a smirk that only served to remind Tucker of Church. “You _need_ me to stay.”

“Hey, we would have figured something out.”

“Was that before or after you got reincarnated?”

Church joined in the rapid fire argument only a second later as their feet continued to pound against the city’s burning pavement and Tex stayed sheltered between the vibrant blues of their wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If only we all had these character's luck when it came to quick resolutions of conflict. And an Agent Texas XD
> 
> To confirm: yes, it is Carolina who becomes the head Reaper after the Director is reincarnated. I didn't tag her or the other characters who showed up this chapter because they are only in it for the minority of the story. I hope their appearance was a nice surprise though! 
> 
> I didn't want to be cruel, so I have also already posted the epilogue and extras~


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For all the universes there are,  
> this one was not enough,  
> not for now, not for us.  
> Somewhere in another, though.  
> We are softer, we are kinder.  
> To our skin, to each other.”
> 
> In that there that isn’t here, I allow myself to love you | p.d (vialostcap)

**Sixty years later**

“Are they here yet?”

“Caboose, for the last time, they are not going to magically show up just because you keep asking that fucking question!”

“You said five minutes ago they’d be here in five minutes.”

“Oh don’t you start too, Tucker, I swear–”

“You know, it might not be a good idea to be so angry during a reincarnation.”

“Ha, Church’s doomed then.”

“That’s a good point, Wash! Why don’t we all do some breathing exercises–”

“Donut, no!”

“Ooh, and I learned some super flexible yoga poses the other day–”

_“Yo realmente espero que algo va mal, muy mal y todos terminan en diferentes rincones del mundo.”_ _(I really really hope something goes terribly wrong and we all end up in different corners of the world)._

“Aw don’t worry, Lopez, I’ll start with some positions even beginners can do!”

“Ooh, is _that_ them?”

“Caboose!”

“Hey wait, I think it is.”

Every gaze turned to the bright blue sky of the canyon as two figures shot through the gap in the walls and soared through the air. Church took a single step forward at the sight, Caboose moving along with him. Tucker stayed where he stood and offered Wash a confident grin when Wash squeezed his hand. The Reds all stood right beside them with Donut bouncing on the balls of his feet in his excitement.

Florida landed in front of their gathered group with a smile for everyone. He looked as unchanged as the rest of the angelic deities despite all the years that had passed since they first met Florida. Tucker quickly drew his gaze away from the wings of light despite the urge to stare at them in awe until his eyeballs melted in their sockets. Church, he noticed, had no such problem as his attention honed in on the small container in Florida’s hands the second the pure angel arrived.

“How is everybody doing today?” Florida asked them, and they all chorused cheerful answers. “Good, good. It warms my heart to see all of you so excited for this.”

“Is that…?” Church blurted, trailing off as he continued to gaze at the object in Florida’s hands.

“It is indeed,” Florida told him, voice softening a little bit as he held out the container for them.

The container itself didn’t look out of the ordinary, just a clear plastic object with a green lid that one might use for storing left-overs in the fridge. The only thing inside though was a clear, blinding light.

If there was one thing that being a love angel had taught Tucker, it was that light could in fact exist as a solid entity. Or at the very least, it could give off the appearance of possessing a tangible existence. Florida’s wings shouldn’t have registered in Tucker’s mind as a body part on their own, and yet they possessed a definite shape that Tucker once accidentally brushed against. His fingers had not only sizzled and burned, they were stopped in their track, pressed against an object that pushed back with electricity.

The light in the container was the same. Burning white-hot, it _pressed_ against the confines of the container, straining to burst free from the lid. Little tendrils leaked from the cracks between the lid and walls, reminding Tucker of jellyfish tentacles.

The others all stared and Caboose moved back toward Tucker and Wash, but Church moved forward.

“Tex?” he asked in the gentle voice he reserved for sleepy mornings and the quiet darkness that followed their nightmares.

The light stilled for a brief second and then responded by pushing even harder against the confinement. Florida chuckled as the others all shuffled closer a little in awe.

“Not many souls like being confined for too long, but she’s been impatient since the second we put her in,” Florida told them.

“Not many people like confinement, no matter how short,” Wash said in a tight voice, for scars from the past remained no matter how much time passed. Tucker shifted a little closer to his side as Florida gave them a sympathetic smile.

“Let’s get to it then,” he said. “Wyoming should be helping out your friends at the other headquarters, and that wonderful twin of North’s. And I’ll be sending Grif and Simmons along shortly after we’re done here.”

He offered a smile to the Reds at that, and Sarge simply grunted despite the gleam everyone could see in his eyes. “We won’t have much time once we get started though, so.”

At that, they all turned slowly to the group behind them that had been silently watching the exchange the entire time.

“We’ll be sure to make all of you proud while you’re gone!” Andersmith assured them with a straight posture from where he stood at the front of the group of seraphs and love angels that would be taking over the canyon once they were all reincarnated.

“We’ll make sure you all get the happy endings you deserve!” Jensen told them with a sniffle.

“Unless you fuck it up,” Bitters said with a bored expression despite the tight hugs he’d given everyone the night before. “Which you probably will.”

“But we’ll fix it!” Palomo choked out, big tears rolling down his tattooed cheeks with no signs of stopping. “And we’ll work really hard and finish lots of assignments and keep decorating the base and–”

“Oh my god, Palomo, shut up,” Tucker repeated the phrase he’d been using since Palomo first showed up twenty years ago.

“I just wanted to say that you guys were all really inspiring and I’m really grateful you taught us so much,” Matthews added from where he hovered in between Bitters and Jensen.

_“Oh Dios.”_

“Thank you, all of you,” Wash said before any of the Reds or Blues could make less than heartfelt comments. “We know you’ll do this canyon proud.”

“Don’t forget to keep kicking those Blues’ kiesters,” Sarge told the three who’d been adopted by Red base when they first arrived in the canyon.

“Don’t forget to have lots of balloons at the sleep-overs!” Caboose told them, and Andersmith nodded seriously at his request.

“Well, Church?” Florida said with a smile.

Church shared one last look with Tucker and then moved so he was inches away from the container. With one steady hand, he reached for the tendrils of light that curled and unfurled endlessly in the free air.

The second his fingertips brushed against the light, the tendrils expanded and wrapped tightly around his wrist. Church didn’t say a word, but his eyes went wide and the breath caught in his throat. A few seconds passed and then a grin spread across his face.

“She wants us to hurry the fuck up,” he told the others over his shoulder, fingers grasping at the light that held him.

“If you would, everyone,” Florida said.

Caboose instantly grabbed Church’s free hand, Tucker took Caboose’s, and the others fell into place behind them. The light of Tex’s soul glowed even brighter for a moment, surging around Church’s whole body and bathing everyone in the afterglow. Tucker felt Wash’s grip tighten on his hand for a brief moment and then they were gone.

***  

**Sometime in the future**

“Come on, Mikey, don’t be such a baby!”

“It’s too high!”

“Is not!”

“Lindsey’s gonna eat us if he gets hurt.”

“He’s not gonna get hurt. Mikey, _come on_.”

“I want to play soccer!”

“We don’t have ball! You lost it!”

“Lav did it!”

“Shut up!”

“Hey, L squared!” The two boys in the tree and one at the base of the trunk turned at the new voice. Two boys came shuffling up the street toward the patch of grass and trees that took up the middle of the cul de sac. The redhead bounced impatiently on the pavement while the chubby Hawai’ian boy ambled along beside him with a wave. “Those new people finally moved into the house beside you!”

“Do they got any kids?” the boy in the tree with messy black hair and too big glasses called back.

“They’ve got a girl,” the redhead shouted. “Del and Junior are saying hi. She’s got a DS.”

“What about a soccer ball?” the large blond standing at the base of the tree asked hopefully.

“Shut up, Mikey!” the boy highest in the tree with dark skin and a recent buzz cut yelled down. He cursed when the boy with glasses quickly scrambled down the trunk of the tree and landed by Mikey’s side.

“What kind of DS she got, Dex?” he asked with a curious tilt to his head.

“How should I know?” Dex replied while the redhead at his side already began tugging him back the way they came. “Go see for yourself. She’s _your_ new neighbour.”

“Race!” Mikey shouted, and everyone but Dex started to run as fast as they could, the boy in the tree nearly breaking his leg as he jumped from his branch with a complaint that they all had a head start. Their loud whoops and cheers filled the evening air of the small street as Dex moaned about running but still fell into step behind them all.

“You think they’ll be okay?” Palomo asked as the small band of love angels and seraphs watched the humans race to the moving truck resting by one of the houses in the middle of the street.

“They’re not even all together yet,” Jensen said, red and white wings brushing Palomo’s shoulder in a gesture of reassurance despite her own nervous words.

“They still have a long way to go before we potentially get assigned to them,” Andersmith reminded them, deep blue wings curling around all of his younger friends. “We just have to be patient.”

“Ten bucks says Tex makes Church cry in five minutes,” Bitters said with a smirk, and Matthews shot his boyfriend a worried look.

“Um, that doesn’t seem like a good start to a relationship?”

“I’ll take that bet,” Palomo replied. They all started to head toward the gaggle of children now standing around an unimpressed looking girl wearing a baggy black t-shirt that hung down to scabs on her boney knees. “But I think he’ll last at least last six with Tucker there to help!”

“You’re on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of them lose the bet, Church only lasts four minutes before Tex makes him cry. He calls her weird, she calls him a nerd, and it all goes downhill from there.
> 
> I have also posted some extras about how each love angel became one and how a couple things play out in the reincarnated universe (imagining them all as kids and having crushes on each other since childhood has cleared all my acne, watered my crops and restored all my health. Red team would be the Triple D--Dex, Dick, and Del for Donut--and I am dying). 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with this story for so long and for all of your kudos and comments! Every single one has made me smile, and I have loved writing this fic.
> 
> I don't really have any future plans for long fics at the moment, as I am actually going to be moving to Japan very soon and therefore life is getting pretty hectic. But if you ever want to chat, I am on Tumblr @ gracer222


	13. Extras

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't fit in a bunch of the backstories of how they became love angels and seraphs into the main chapters due to plot, so Part 1 is why Tucker, Donut, Caboose, Sarge, and Lopez became love angels and seraphs. Not exactly happy reasons, so warnings for mentions of racial violence, PTSD, homophobia, rape, and suicide. There are no graphic descriptions but please don't read those parts if it will upset you.
> 
> Part 2 is much cuter and happier; it is simply to give you guys an idea of how the reincarnated universe worked out (as I am forcing myself not to write what would no doubt be a 100k kid fic)

**Tucker:** Like Church, he was one of the last of the main Reds and Blues to arrive in the canyon (Wash being the very last, as a transfer). When he was a human, he had many sexual relationships but very few romantic ones. Nine times out of ten, he felt sexual attraction first and foremost, and that was it. With everyone though, platonic or otherwise, he was a very tactile person and loved all forms of physical contact.

However, in his mid-twenties he ended up falling in love with a girl who was only interested in being fuckbuddies. Even worse for Tucker, she only enjoyed sexual contact and didn’t want any other forms of physical touching that Tucker liked; no handholding, cuddling, kissing on the lips, not even any hugging. When Tucker did finally work up the courage to admit to her that he would actually like to have a romantic relationship with her as well as a sexual one, she laughed in his face. She told him that no one would ever want to be in a romantic relationship with him, that the only thing he was good for was a warm, semi-attractive body and that’s it.

Three days later, Tucker got shit-faced at a bar and left alone after having no luck flirting with anyone. He was stabbed in an alleyway and died three blocks from the bar.

This is in part why he responds so well to physical comfort by Wash, and it’s a tendency that Church and Caboose noticed within Tucker’s first week at the canyon.  

 **Donut:** He was a World War II war veteran. The scar on his face is from a grenade blast that occurred during battle. He was committed to an insane asylum by his father a year after his return from the war due to undiagnosed (and unrecognized during this historical period) PTSD and homosexuality. He died there from a number of factors; complications from wounds suffered during the war, decline of mental health, overcrowding within the asylum, and mistreatment by the staff stemming from both the imperfect understanding of PTSD and homophobic attitudes of several members of the staff. Donut was in solitary when he died, hence his reference to dying in the dark alone and unloved (he also could no longer see out of one eye due to the grenade blast). Rather than possessing a festering hatred and anger over the way he was treated though, his suffering created a desire to make sure no one else underwent the same experiences as him which enabled him to become a seraph.

He arrived in the canyon a year after Lopez and several years before any of the current Blues. The first night, he woke up everyone in Red base with his screaming. He does have fragmented memories of the war and more clear memories of how he died in the asylum. Unlike the reactions in the asylums, as soon as he started screaming, Sarge came into his room, woke him up, and then held him while he cried. Sarge also referenced his shotgun and its ability to keep them safe there several times. Lopez made pancakes for the morning after, as is Red team tradition.

 **Caboose:** He was the first of the current Blues to arrive in the canyon unlike in canon. (There were others there before them; they were reincarnated a year before Church and Tucker showed up, neither Sarge nor Caboose got along very well with them). As a human, he was the oldest and only boy of a family with six daughters all close in age range together. He worked almost every day of the week in a mine that was the backbone of the small town. The day the coal mine bump occurred that killed him, he was actually not scheduled to work but covering someone else’s shift. Two bumps happened in rapid succession, but there was enough time in between that allowed Caboose to protect another worker with his large frame and get other workers out of the way of the cave-in when the support pillars’ collapsed. Caboose was therefore trapped and died alone when the roof finally caved in.

Caboose does not have a tangible memory of helping anyone before he died, but still possessed the desire to help that enabled him to become a seraph. His affection for Church was instantaneous when the love angel first arrived in the canyon, despite Church’s hostile attitude and wariness of the seraph.

 **Lopez:** Lopez was a mechanical engineer who died during the construction of a provincial bridge in 1898. The collapse of the support beams during construction occurred in part due to unsafe standards set by the site manager. Lopez was aware of how unsafe the site and work was, but continued to show up for the job anyways because he needed the money to support his daughter. A week before his death, his wife had committed suicide by jumping into a local river, leaving no note for her daughter or him, and having never spoken of her poor mental health before her death. Lopez’s daughter lived with his grandparents following his death.

During his life, Lopez was able to speak both English and Spanish, and no one knows why he can only speak Spanish while still understanding English in the afterlife. Despite this language barrier, Sarge took an immediate liking to Lopez when he first showed up in the canyon, and he never questioned why it was children’s lullabies that calmed Lopez down the quickest after a nightmare.

 **Sarge:** None of the others know for sure how long Sarge has been a love angel though his claims aren’t too far off. In reality, he was part of the military of Carthage when the Roman Republic seized the city, ending in 146 BCE. His house was one of the last to go down fighting when the Romans finally broke into the city and had to fight street-by-street. Before he was finally killed,  he was forced to watch his lover be raped and murdered despite his own desperate attempts to fight back, as well as witness the slaughter of all the neighbourhood children he loved as his own.

Like all love angels, he didn’t remember the love aspect of his life when he first became an angel, only his death. One of his earliest assignments was getting together two sons of minor Roman families, Grif and Simmons. It was one of his longest assignments, not just because of Grif and Simmons’ own stubbornness, but Sarge’s fresh grief and anger toward the fate of his city as he could remember in fragmented nightmares. However, the next time the two were reincarnated and an assignment became available for getting them together, Sarge immediately called dibs and would only say it was because no one else would know how to get the idiots together. He was assigned to them since that day, until the time Tucker took on their assignment.

***

**Tallies found on the wall of a treehouse in Sarge’s backyard as of the Reds and Blues entering high school in their reincarnated lives:**

_Times Tex made Church cry:_ 14

 _Caboose scored own goal:_ 33

 _Grif took someone’s snack:_ Infinity

 _Tucker fell from a tree:_ 4              

 _Donut poured flour on everyone:_ 10

 _Church lost his glasses:_ 6

 _Simmons STOLE Church’s glasses:_ 4

 _Tex broke her DS:_ 2 **~~3~~** ~~That was you Church it doesn’t count~~ **~~does too~~** ~~no **does too times infinity**~~

            _+_ 1 _Tex made Church cry_

 _Caboose lost a ball:_ Infinity

 _Sarge made everyone dinner:_ Infinity

 _Simmons drew a moustache on Grif:_ 7 you’re a jerk Simmons

 _ ~~Simmons cried:~~_ ~~12~~ shut up Grif!

 _Tex beat Tucker at arm wrestling:_ 11

 _Tex beat Sarge at arm wrestling:_ 8 he let you

            +1 _Tex beat Tucker at arm wrestling_

 _Donut painted everyone’s nails:_ 54

 _Someone broke Sarge’s window:_ Infinity

 _Caboose and Simmons made something explode:_ 14

 

**Tallies kept mentally throughout high school:**

_Boys Tex kissed/dated/slept with:_ 10

 _Church got jealous:_ Infinity

 _Tucker tried hitting on ~~the new kid~~_ _Wash:_ 15

 _Wash accidentally hit on Tucker:_ 18

 _People got the Dakota twins confused:_ Infinity

 _Simmons messed up asking Grif out:_ 7

 _Beat up someone for calling Donut names:_ 1

 _Someone actually understood what Lopez was saying:_ 6

 _Sarge took them on a road trip:_ 8

 _Grif complained about his crush on Simmons to Tucker:_ 44

 _Tucker complained about his crush on Wash to Grif:_ 47

 _Church complained about Tex ~~and his massive crush on her:~~_ Infinity

 _Caboose cried at the movie theatres:_ 9

 _Donut gave someone a pep talk:_ Infinity

 _People Tucker flirted with to make Wash jealous:_ 5

 _People Wash got jealous of because they were flirting with Tucker:_ 5

 _Kai and Grif crashed at someone else’s house:_ 54

 _Kai and Grif crashed at Sarge’s house:_ 33

 _Donut was the prettiest person at school:_ 121

 _Days Church didn’t sleep:_ 105

 _Church and Tex made out before dating:_ 6

 _Church and Tex broke up:_ 3

 _Caboose hit someone with a ball in gym class:_ 29

 _Caboose hit Church with a ball in gym class:_ 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PTSD was first recognized by the American Psychiatric Association in 1980 and many of the insane asylums and their more unsavory (and ineffective) treatments fell into disuse around the same time. Before the official recognition, many war veterans and others who suffered from PTSD were poorly treated due to a lack of understanding of the cause of their distress. Before its recognition, many military people who had it were simply labelled cowards. Electric shock therapy was very common. 
> 
> A coal mine bump (also called a bump, a mine bump, or a mountain bump) is a seismic jolt occurring within a mine, often due to the explosive collapse of a wall or one or more support pillars, sometimes called a rock burst. As the coal is extracted, the pressure is redistributed onto the pillars and can increase to the extent that the pillar explodes like a hand grenade, shooting coal and rock at lethal speeds.
> 
> The Battle of Carthage was the main engagement of the Third Punic War between the Punic city of Carthage in Africa and the Roman Republic. It was a siege operation, starting sometime between 149 and 148 BC, and ending in spring 146 BC with the sack and complete destruction of the city of Carthage. The citizens inside the walls turned the city into an arsenal so when the Romans were finally able to enter the city, it became a vicious street by street, house by house, battle until the Romans were victorious. The city was leveled and thousands of survivors sold into slavery.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a set number of chapters yet, but I swear it won't be as long as the Lifeguard AU. I also am unsure about how often I will update; for now I don't have a set time unfortunately as my school load this month/semester is extremely heavy.I promise not to leave this unfinished though.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta, babbyspanch, for editing the first two chapters and helping me create so much of this world. 
> 
> My friend has already made a (very fitting) playlist for the verse and the couples in it: http://8tracks.com/fluffytotherescue/heaven-knows
> 
> I am also on Tumblr (gracer222).


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